


I Tore My Stockings and Kissed the Punk Next Door

by thephantompoet (typewriteronfire)



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewriteronfire/pseuds/thephantompoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a marion bowles x siobhan sadler high school au</p><p>Marion Bowles is just living a plastic, privileged life of expectation and loneliness until she encounters the rough girl next door. Siobhan Sadler opens her eyes to rolled shirt sleeves, rebellion, punk rock and making out behind the tool shed in the summer. It turns out that love and freedom taste a lot like cigarettes and teenage stupidity. </p><p>dedicated to a-nice-little-cigarette and aparadoxinflux</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction (The Party Next-Door)

 

It’s an autumn evening, so heavy in its cold. Marion Bowles sits cross-legged on her windowsill, seventeen years old, daddy’s little girl and heading straight to an Ivy League college. At least, according to her family she is.

Tonight her heart feels heavy and stale, her day of school echoing the last three years of her life. There’s been enough uniformity to blend months and months into indistinguishable memories. This makes Marion itch with an untraceable desire and boundless frustration. _Something has to change._

She’s sitting in her silk pyjamas, a book in her lap, breathing in the frost and sweet smell of rotting leaves through the open window. She can see lines of houses and their patchwork roofs stretching away in soft streetlight. It feels like anything could happen. A neighbourhood dog could grow wings and fly gracefully in choreographed loops over the house next-door and she wouldn’t even be surprised. Tonight feels just a little bit magical, but still Marion is trapped inside. It’s a painful truth, a prison sentence dressed in designer labels and apathy.

Marion loves the night, always has. She thinks that it’s something about the way the shadows hug the figures on the lawn of the neighbours’ house. They’re always having parties, those people. The music is rough and powerful, the texture of its roaring sound unsettling Marion’s stomach and making her feel like everything she’s been waiting for is possible.

They have a daughter, around her age she thinks. But she goes to the public school on the other side of town, and Marion has never been brave enough to say even a hello. Tonight they’re at it again, the lights blinking cheerily underneath the large trees in the yard and scores of people milling around. These people don’t ‘mill’ like her parent’s type of people though. There’s no expensive champagne, polite but pointless small talk, or discussion of recent art acquisitions. From what she can see from the window, Marion thinks that there's only bottles, loud music, and laughter. The kind of laughter that reaches up into her house, grabs her heart and screams in glorious freedom.

Oh to be down in that yard and slouched beneath the trees, making her dress muddy. To be that girl next door.


	2. shirtsleeves and cigarettes- I’m a mess

The next morning, Marion Bowles successfully completes her expected routine, being downstairs in time for a seven a.m. breakfast in her powder blue, neatly pressed school uniform. She sits up at the marble counter and smiles weakly at her mother, who is drinking coffee between scarlet lips, a fur collar perched on her bony shoulders. Marion can’t remember ever hugging her mother and she thinks, at times like these, that perhaps it’s a good thing. Her mother’s clavicles look so sharp and underfed that they could probably cut cheese. Probably. Either way, she doesn’t have long to wonder because her mother is out the door after downing the coffee dregs, a swift, cold kiss planted on her daughter’s head and a chilly farewell.

         “I’ll see you at eight. Behave yourself.”

Her daughter looks up briefly, eyebrows arching in tired disdain,

“Yeah mum, see you then.”

It ends up barely more than a mumble but Marion’s mother, Dr Clarissa Bowles, was hardly waiting for a response. Her words are unnecessary and empty. They taste like ash.

She distantly hears her mother’s car door slam and doesn’t take long to bolt her toast and head to the door. She clambers off the kitchen stool and hears the unnerving click of her leather shoes hit the polished floor. Everything is clinical and pristine. Her house does not feel like a home. It only takes few steps to the door but Marion catches her reflection in the dark shiny surface of the entry hall and grimaces. She’s a pretty girl, beautiful even, her cheekbones are high, lips full, eyebrows at once fierce and delicately arching and eyes glittering hazel brown but the gloss on her lips feels plastic. Marion Bowles is not just a pretty face. She doesn’t want to be. She looks at herself again, reaching up to scruff her perfect fringe out of pristine curls.

         “That’s better.”

Then she tries to smile differently, pulling her lips up with purpose. Her reflection glitters back at her and mirrors some kind of energy that wasn’t there before. This way her teeth look jagged and beautiful. Like they wouldn’t think twice about clamping around a cigarette and letting her speak her mind. A little giggle escapes her lips and she rolls up her uniform sleeves.

         “Fuck you mother dearest.”

With that, she’s out the door.

 

The Bowles Estate is of the sort involving gravel driveways with fountains and tortured hedges, unused tennis courts and awful white outdoor furniture. Marion lopes across the lawn towards the side-gate, ignoring the disgruntled mutter from the grounds-keeper and feels entirely new, somehow. She makes it to the letterbox before her betraying mind is twitching to roll her sleeves down and fix her collar. She whispers to herself, anxiety fluttering suddenly unbidden to her temples.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Wearing the disapproval of wealth and expectation she steps hurriedly into the street, eyes cast downwards in second-hand shame. She hasn’t realised that she spoke out loud until a lanky figure gently grabs her elbow to stop their collision and grins widely.

“Whoah there, you may own lots of shit, but as far as I know, you don’t own the footpath. At least not yet. Problem in paradise, sweetheart?”

It’s the girl from next-door. She’s dressed in what looks like a faded band t-shirt, tight black jeans and canvas shoes covered in scribbles and splatters of paint. Marion can’t help the flush that rises immediately in her cheeks as she registers what the girl is saying.

“Oh, oh god no. I didn’t mean to assume- I- I am entirely aware that t-the footpath isn’t- I’m so sorry. I’m just…”

The girl laughs. The sound is light and bubbly, originating somewhere below her lungs and musically filling the air with colour. Marion trails off uncertainly, watching the strange girl shaking with mirth and running her fingers through her hair. Her movements are rough but so confident and charmingly lopsided that Marion has a sudden urge to touch her skin and see if it’s conducts as much energy as the girl herself appears to. Finally, the girl looks at her and suddenly seems gentle.

         “Hey, it’s okay. I was taking the piss.”

Her eyes follow Marion’s shaking fingers as they reach to roll down her sleeves properly and she frowns.

“Oi, don’t do that.” Marion looks up into the clearest eyes she’s ever seen and her heartbeat thrums anxiously in her ears. “You look totally punk. If not entirely untarnished and terrified. But we can work on it.

We? We can work on it? The suggestion makes her unreasonably happy and she smiles tightly, trying to reply, clearing her suddenly dry throat.

         “Ah okay. Th-thank you?”

The girl grimaces at this.

         “Fuck, I’m sorry. I never introduced myself. I’m Siobhan. Sadler. From next-door.”

Marion doesn’t even have the presence of mind to flinch at the course language. It even seems to fit- _Siobhan-_ and make her all the more charming, in a disjointed way.

         “I’m Marion. I’m s-sorry we haven’t met before now.”

“It’s cool, I’ve noticed you though. You seem great, even if your family isn’t. I’ll see you around, okay, I’m going to be late for school but don’t change your sleeves; it’s oddly hot.”

She departs with a wink and Marion is left, two steps outside her gate, with the distinct feeling that something essential to her very being had just been stolen.

//The wind smells like coffee and cigarettes and she's late for school.//


	3. no use crying over spilt spaghetti

Marion spends the day of school in a state of distraction, tapping biros against the edge of the desk and staring off into space. She finds herself doodling on the edge of her page, dark lines forming eyes, lips, and the fierce line of a nose. Her mind is a mess of broken bottles and the unapologetic soundtrack from the neighbours’ party from the night before.

 It isn’t until she finds herself in the lunch line with no real memory of ever arriving there that she starts to worry. Her slender fingers tap gently against the cold metal bar separating queue from kitchen. She imagines that her fingers can melt the whole way through and tear the divide from the concrete in which it’s set. The daydream makes her muscles ache slightly in her frame. She’s lost in time again, beautifully unconscious for a second. Painted in colour.

Apathy for her parents’ life has crept all the way into her bones and its acid is giving her no rest. She finds no meaning in the groups of people milling around her, expensive clothes and smirks that look like they’d wipe off as soon as their owners’ were alone again, in the lonely sanctuary of each child’s respective bedroom.

“Hey Marion. Fucking move, would you? You may not want to eat, but the rest of us sure do.”

She looks around, startled. The girl who spoke is looking at her with raised eyebrows and a smirk that would put the Mona Lisa to shame.

         “Oh. Oh of c-course. Sorry.”  

She lets them pass her and doesn’t miss the departing whisper.

“Stupid slut. Did you see her hair? Is that look meant to be ‘rich girl tries to be punk’ or what?”

Their giggles harmonise in a sickly sweet ascending arpeggio that hits Marion like a punch in the gut. They’re right, of course they are. These last couple of days have been a game. A game that has got out of hand. You can’t deny the place that makes you who you are. Nature verses nurture and all of that. It almost doesn’t matter what frequency Marion wants her heart to beat.

This cafeteria has always struck her as beautiful despite the greed that dwells within it; sharp and clean white lines to house the population of students. It’s a common room of giant proportions, a representation of wealth and privilege with everything material and ordered. As it should be. At least that’s what she has always thought.

She places her tray on a nearby table and moves to roll down her shirt-sleeves. Her fingers shake as they fasten the buttons and she irons out the creases with her palms as best she can. When she retrieves her lunch she is forced to face the room.

Marion’s head pounds and she shifts her feet slightly on the glossy floor, the rubber squeak startling her. This hung movement of indecision marks the start of the horrific lunchtime game where the only likely outcomes are a rare peace and quiet, shame, or outright verbal abuse.  _This shit is never-ending…_

The plastic tray in her hand trembles slightly. A group of footballers walks past her then; close, rough and unapologetic. They talk loudly, the kind of self-obsessed and arrogant fanfare that only comes with youth. Marion can feel her blood rise under her skin, thin and cold. A pulse flutters lightly under her collar, still upturned slightly after her encounter with  _that girl,_ Siobhan. The air suddenly feels thinner, as if each of her breaths isn’t getting the oxygen it should. But the noise doesn’t stop as the loud footsteps of the jocks pass her. It grows instead, reaching cold hands around her and squeezing in a frenzied energy, flashing bright lights behind her eyes. Marion sobs suddenly, her lungs desperately pulling at the air, choking through her closing throat. Her tray hits the floor with a crash, cutlery spinning off underneath tables and pasta sauce painting the ground with a gory splatter of scarlet. Marion’s knees shake desperately.

The cafeteria falls silent. The void echoes with a ring, a vacuum of empty space, every head turning to look straight at the girl with the crooked, creased sleeves. Their faces blur fiercely together into a whirl of panic. What an awful landscape of humanity.

Marion’s violent breathing fills the air with an odd wind, a gasping and grating grief of confusion. She reaches up instinctively to her face, feeling the cold damp of tears coating her cheeks. Her fingers curl into nothing, trembling with emotion. It’s when the whispers start, like a seeping and deadly wind that she starts to run. The floor moves quickly beneath her, the common-room doors closing behind her with a snap.

Outside is crisp and vivid, and Marion feels as though she has awoken from a terrible dream. The world blurs beautifully into meaningless colour as her feet hit the ground, legs finally able to stretch and yawn. The burn of movement sits gloriously on her skin and she keeps pace, tirelessly putting distance between her and that  _place._ The school represents everything she has grown to hate, to detest with every fibre of her being.

When she finally slows to a jog, and then stops, outside a bus shelter on the edge of her neighbourhood her lungs are burning with an entirely different flame and she catches her breath with flushed cheeks. Her eyes are still tearful, the shame of her departure and her nameless fear stings them relentlessly but she shakily sits on the scarred bench, pressing her hands firmly between her knees. She doesn’t have long to stitch her disjointed insides up as best she can before she hears distant voices and laughter. It’s rough and beautiful, making Marion feel lonely than ever. It’s a fascinatingly cold around her heart.

She tucks herself up inside the shelter and hugs her knees to her still shaky chest. The voices grown louder and a group of kids round the corner with a shout of mirth and a screamed expletive. Marion looks up slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself, but the group are moving towards her quickly, and she thinks it best to study the ground, eyes stubbornly downturned. She’s not a pretty crier; tears and pale cheeks only result in redness and embarrassment. So she tries to turn invisible, desires it fiercely. It’s a bad habit.

One member of the group stops though, drawing closer to her and speaking softly, in surprise.

“Marion? Marion are you okay?”

A pair of black, battered canvas shoes enter Marion’s field of view and her heart starts pounding wildly. She wonders why.

Marion looks up, knowing exactly who she’s going to see, looking down at her with painful concern on every line creased between her eyebrows. Siobhan Sadler waves her away her group of friends with a scowl and kneels down in the gravel of the footpath. She places a gentle hand on Marion’s forehead.

         “Oh god what happened? You look awful.” The other girl grimaces, removing her hand and cracking her knuckles regretfully. “I mean, you don’t look awful, uh. You never look awful. I just mean. Oh god. Shit. I just m-mean that you look r-really down? And I’m just worried. Okay.”

Marion smiles weakly at that.

         “I r-ran away from school. And it’s okay… I really d-do look awful.”

The two girls laugh shakily, Siobhan breathing a little sigh of relief. The older girl reaches for Marion’s hand and slowly entwines their fingers. Her voice is slow and oddly sweet when she speaks again, it seems at odds with her exterior, it’s almost motherly.

         “You know what?”

Marion shakes her head in reply; cheeks burning with what she knows is an obvious blush. Her pulse beats erratically at her wrist. She hopes desperately that Siobhan can’t feel it.

“I think we should go and drink tea. It always seems to fix everything whenever  _I’m_ feeling down or scared. What do you think?”

Marion doubts that Siobhan would ever feel scared, let alone drink tea to fix it, but she simply nods, tightening her fingers around the other girl’s.

         “Okay.”

 


	4. the punk rock mother hen is crushing on you, apparently

The café is softly lit and almost glowing in a wonderful mess of shadow and light. Siobhan has already ordered, simply nodding sternly at the barista and steering Marion to a back table by her elbow. It’s exactly the sort of place Marion pictures Siobhan sitting in. Perhaps ordering coffee after tired coffee and listening to the scratchy playlist currently grating over the speakers. It’s an easy image to call to mind.

 

The two sit there, the wood scarred and honey brown beneath them and Marion is finally able to breathe normally again. Siobhan looks at her, eyes light and piercing even in the gloom of the café,

         “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Marion tightens her lips, shifting in her chair. The silence hangs; she waits a moment before finally speaking.

         “You’re being so nice to me.”

Siobhan smiles at that, looking down at her hands where they rest on the table with a soft chuckle. It soon gives way to a gentle seriousness.

         “I’m not in the business of being shitty to pretty girls… Even if they are rich bitches.”

Her smirk returns at that and Marion can see the flash of her teeth between her crooked lips. Her stomach tilts uncomfortably as the other girl bites her lower lip.

“But seriously. I think you’re cool.” She pauses, weighing up her words with careful purpose. “And maybe even just a little lonely.”

Marion looks up, surprised.

         “You’ve gathered that already?”

Siobhan shrugs in response.

“Yeah… I guess from what I’ve seen of your life and the people in it. I can’t imagine  _not_ feeling lonely.”

“Well whatever your reasoning, you’re right.” Marion smiles awkwardly. “And as for this morning, there isn’t much to tell. I panicked, I left.”

Siobhan looks impressed, reaching across the table for her hand. The second time since the bus stop. Marion doesn’t think her nerves can take much more empathy from this strange girl with her punk rock clothes and crooked smile. It seems to be causing her heart some difficulty. She both wishes to draw her hand away and to keep it there for hours. But before she can analyse her own overreaction Siobhan is speaking seriously again, eyes wide and looking straight at her.

“There’s no shame in bailing on a shitty place, really. You have some fire in you, for sure.” 

Marion has never felt more aware of her boring mousy hair and sickly pale skin. She pales in comparison to Siobhan’s passion, every movement conducts energy.

            “Uh huh.”

 Marion is saved from expanding on that as the barista comes over, two steaming cups of tea balanced in his hands and a wide grin on his face. 

         “Bit of a weak date S, you wanna get laid you’ve got to wine and dine!”

He draws out his syllables and tilts his head with the rhythm of his sentence, a strange dance to his conversation. Siobhan swats at his arm in response, playful but sluggish, as if the warmth and shadow of the café has finally caught up with her.

         “S’not a date. Shut up.”

He only grins wider in response and places the cups down with an ungainly thud, small dribbles of liquid finding the table and steam dancing in the air. He steps back, arms crossing in front of him, rolling backwards on the balls of his heels.

         “Whatever you say S.” His words remain punctuated by raised eyebrows. “We still on for this weekend?”

         “For sure. Now fuck off.”

The boy turns on his heel and practically skips back to the kitchen. Siobhan’s eyes are on his retreating back, 

"Spirited youth, that one."

Marion is still red; he said  _a date, a date? Does that mean that Siobhan is gay? I guess I don’t care either way. A date, a date._ Her mind still racing, she manages a stuttered question.

         “W-what’s h-happening this weekend?”

Siobhan grins, tapping her fingers along to the song that’s come on.

         “Some protest. It’s bound to be rowdy. I don’t know. Some mates and I are going to a gig afterwards anyway. So even if the thing is a bust we still get a night out of it.”

         “I’m sorry? A gig?”

The other girl smirks.

         “You really are sheltered, aren’t you? A gig is a concert, chicken.” The endearment feels strangely natural to Siobhan’s lips and she smiles around the syllables. She can see Marion blushing across the table and thinks it horrifically endearing. Turns out punk-rock S can’t withstand pink cheeks and ignorance, just her luck.

“Do you want to come?”

She tries not to love the way the Marion’s face lights up at the suggestion.

         “I’d love to!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

( _ehhhhhhhhhh shitty and short chapter I’m sorry. But I wanted to write something for this fic before I sleep and I needed this bridging bit. Stay with me it’ll get better I promise xoxoxo)_


	5. open windows, beating hearts and complete stupidity (sort yourself out marion honey, this is ridiculous)

_~~~~_

The rest of the week passes at a slow crawl and it’s Thursday before Marion sees Siobhan again. The absence bothers her more than she knows it should but she’s trying not to think about that; denial has become her speciality, making its home in her throat and pulsing with a dark cold of foreboding.

~

Her window’s propped open, letting the icy evening air into her room. She doesn’t know why she does it anymore. Maybe it’s just her way of feeling like she could catch flight. Marion wraps herself in a blanket and sits where she can see Siobhan’s house. It’s shadowy tonight, no party illuminating the tree branches and making it seem like a small oasis of joy. But, even as she watches, someone is walking across the yard. Marion leans closer to the tilted glass, her breath forming patches of cloud to block her sight. She thinks she recognises the loping gait, and opens her window more to whisper loudly into the night.

         “ _Siobhan!”_

 The figure looks up, faceless in the darkness, and waves. The moment is suspended, the night a never-ending blanket of calm over their heads. Siobhan is framed against a streetlight and the shadow is just as eerie and slender as its owner. But even as she thinks it, Marion loses sight of her in the trees between their houses and feels a pang of disappointment.

After the week of strange events, it is only now that Marion is able to think about Monday’s cafeteria debacle and the resulting ‘punk in shining armour’ rescue from the bus stop. Even remembering the gentle way the other girl had held her hands to stop them shaking and the picture of her eyes flashing with a fierce compassion makes Marion’s heart lurch peculiarly with a warm ache.

Maybe she admires her so because of the independence and furious passion she holds about herself like a leather jacket. Maybe it’s because she represents everything Marion can never truly be. It could even be that she makes Marion’s heart beat faster and exudes confidence with ridiculous ease. But this thought makes her shake with an unnamed fear and she discards it.

Those sorts of wonderings lodge themselves like a barbed thorn in the back of your mind, she thinks, and they refuse to let you sleep. So she slips down from the windowsill and her feet hit the polished wood floorboards with a soft thud. Thank god her parents are asleep. Probably tired out from shouting at her all week about her untimely exit from school. Marion laughs to herself quietly; who knew such supposedly intelligent and successful people could be so blind.

She climbs into bed and fluffs her pillow with unusual violence, reaching for the book on her bedside table, but a soft knock at her window makes her head jerk up in surprise. Marion clambers out of bed quickly, paperback clutched threateningly in hand. Her slow, measured steps towards the window are painfully cautious and the knock at the window sounds again, impatient. She peers into the gloom, letting out a soft gasp as she sees the identity of her visitor. The window opens with a loud creak and Marion winces at the sound.

         “Shhhh. Jesus, how did you even get up here?”

Siobhan doesn’t reply, just clambers into the room and brushes her t-shirt down. Her grin is radiant.

         “Nice to see you again too.”

The other girl tries to look indignant; Siobhan did just climb into her bedroom at 11.30pm unannounced, but the punk is already settling into the large pink armchair in the opposite corner of her room with a self-satisfied, feline smirk. She regards Marion with a level gaze, her eyes lingering on her bare collarbone. Marion can only summon a meek stutter, watching the older girl warily.

“M-making yourself at home there, I s-see…”

The stare moves to her lips and Marion can feel it prickling on her skin, like a phantom touch. Her hand jumps reflexively to her cheek, as if such scrutiny had burned it and coughs nervously. It breaks the air like a rock through a window.

“Christ! You’re highly strung, aren’t you princess.”

Marion finds that she immediately misses the heaviness of the air, so charged with fear… and something else more difficult to define. But she simply nods jerkily in response and picks up a cardigan from the end of her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders self-consciously.

An ominous rattle from the armchair draws her gaze back to Siobhan. She’s pulling bottles out of her waistband, small spirit bottles lining up haphazardly on the cushioned arm. Marion’s eyes widen and she dashes to gather them, a disapproving murmur already on her lips.

         “At least put them on a level surface? Do you even care about my parents waking up at all?”

Siobhan catches her wrist and looks up into Marion’s panicked face.

         “Relax. Of course I care.” She oozes sincerity, “It was silly of me, I know.”

She picks one of the bottles up.

         “I just though you could use some cheering up.”

         “Y-you don’t mean…?”

Siobhan nods with a wide smile.

         “I mean.”

She cracks the seal, tossing the pretty silver cap up into the air with a wink. It catches the light and looks, just for a second, like a small star. The moment bends beautifully as it falls into her lap and becomes still. She tilts the glass rim of the bottle to her lips, wincing slightly as the vodka meets her throat and then looks up at Marion.

         “Sit down and relax, would you. You’re making me nervous.”

When Marion sits down on the carpet, toes brushing the other girl’s combat boots and knees tucked under her chin, she feels, just for a second, that maybe she  _can_  go along to the protest on Saturday. Maybe everything isn’t as terrifying as she once thought.

The bottle is cold against Marion’s fingers, but she remembers the way Siobhan’s lips touched the rim and grits her teeth.

         “Alright.”

The first sip tastes like the rock music from next-door and burns her mouth with its violence. Maybe magic really does exist, crackling under the lights on Marion’s bedroom ceiling.

She suddenly understands the attraction of this strange liquor; the way it feels against one’s teeth. The heat of it creates a ghostly warmth in her stomach although she can’t tell, minutes later, whether it’s the alcohol or Siobhan that is making her blush.

~

They finish two of Siobhan’s tiny vodka bottles before they end up, giggling, on Marion’s bed. The combat boots have been lost somewhere along the way, and the younger girl thinks the world is beautifully, impossibly pink and soft tonight, especially when Siobhan stops laughing suddenly and looks at her fiercely again. Maybe there is nothing more to life than this chaotic teenage feeling of lying, sprawled, across silken blankets with someone looking at you like you’re beautiful. Marion only vaguely remembers her conscious effort to forget this feeling, only a few hours previously. Only faintly recalls how she wanted to forget exactly how much she likes this strange girl from next-door.

It’s interesting how all that is conveniently forgotten when Siobhan leans forward, like a spiralling descent into some beautiful rabbit-hole, fingers tracing Marion’s cheek softly, so softly. Her eyes are dark and she’s taking shaky breaths shallow into her lungs. Marion thinks that she’s never heard anything so beautiful in her life. When their lips touch, a gentle descent into a growing fire, Siobhan hums softly, somewhere deep in her chest and thinks that perhaps this was the single best idea of her life so far.

The kiss is warm and careful, as if one of them might break or shatter from any increase in pressure. Marion feels lost and completely adrift in the warmth of alcohol, tracing Siobhan’s lower lip with a tentative tongue.

All she can taste is an almost dark-chocolate-bitterness to every movement and she suddenly knows that it’s all she’s ever wanted, a dark and entirely insatiable flutter resting above her ribs. Siobhan encourages the fire, all teeth and tongue, still painfully gentle and careful with every touch.

It’s only when Siobhan’s hand reaches to tangle in Marion’s hair, drawing her closer in to an inevitably searing truth that she remembers everything that she is and can’t be. Oh to forget just for a second, what a beautiful ignorance. A war rages in Marion’s chest, an erratic rhythm accompanying her suddenly racing thoughts. Her joy is shattered into sparkling, dangerous shards, drawing blood.

She breaks the kiss with a quiet breath of realisation, quickly sitting up in the mess of blankets and brushing her hair into place with shaking hands.

         “I-I’m s-sorry. Y-you… I c-can’t.”

Siobhan breathes out heavily; lip-gloss smeared irregularly over the corner of her lips. Her cheeks are a soft pink and her t-shirt is almost  _amusingly_ crumpled, but she still nods quietly, biting her bottom lip and looking at the pattern of the blanket with almost comical intensity.

         “I know…” Her words are thick and slow; Marion shivers at the sound. “It’s okay.”

She moves to find her jacket and shoes, retrieving the empty bottles and stuffing them roughly into her pockets. She still hasn’t looked up. “I guess I’ll see you around…”

Marion still can’t gather her thoughts to say anything else as Siobhan slips out the window, silent and heavy in every movement. The night is more quiet than it’s ever been, the town unmoving in its ignorant pulse, too many lights blinking out with solemn finality.

Marion stands in the middle of her suddenly very  _empty_ room and tries to ignore the burning in her eyes.  _Don’t you dare cry. Don’t._

Her hands are shaking by her side with an awful tremor//searing a heat into every vein.

But then again// that might just be the cold air blowing softly through the still-open window.

~~~~~~

 


	6. the joys of self doubt and hangovers ft Marion Bowles

Marion cried herself to sleep that night, brain still warm and blurred. Her room span pink around her gentle sobs like a regretful wind. She kept closing her eyes, trying to coax sleep from anxiety, only to see Siobhan’s grey-blue ones gazing at her from across the room as if in a never-ending dream.

 

Marion’s fingers shake by her side, breath gasping with painful madness. She’s curled in on herself, pressing her fingernails into the back of her arm, hoping the pain will pull her from the uncontrollable spasms her body is conjuring from fear. When she draws them away the little half-moons bruise with a purple fury, and this pulls her from scarlet clouds and acid into simple exhaustion. Never has she ever felt so empty and alone in her whole life.

This sadness sits around her like the feeling in tired eyes and heavy limbs. It tastes like dark blue cloud and reminds of her of the sadness Siobhan spat from every pore as she left, window swinging emptily like a gaping mouth. That lonely space fills the cavity in Marion’s chest, cold somewhere behind her stomach and below her heart. But the night is slow, Marion thinks, endlessly aching and asking for thoughts that I do not have. She knows that Siobhan is more to her than the girl next-door, she’d be an idiot if she didn’t accept that much. But fear can control people far more than love, or even lust, so the night remains shrouded in a nameless grief as if only the morning light can reveal the truth of Marion’s thoughtless abandon. In this feverish resignation, she eventually drifts into a dreamless sleep.

~

Marion wakes to a pounding headache, the throb starting at the back of her head and creeping around to sear at her temples.

         “Ah, shit.”

Her mouth feels dry and her eyes swollen. Marion almost smiles, she shouldn’t really be surprised; she did drink vodka straight out of airport bottles with Siobhan until the early hours of the morning, kissed her, then kicked her out and cried about it until god knows when. She lets out a groan, it sounds so bad when she thinks about it like that. Marion has never been drunk before, she doesn’t even know if the night before qualifies, but either way she feels bad about it. What are her parents going to say? Hell, it smells like a brewery in here. She tries to sit up, but the blankets are still tangled around her legs.

Shower, she thinks tiredly, if I can only get to the shower, everything will be better. So leaves the comforting warmth of bed, an arm outstretched to prevent exhausted collisions, and stumbles to the bathroom, rubbing bleary eyes with the back of one hand.

Her ensuite is small but beautifully crafted and in expensive taste, much like the rest of the house. It’s painted a creamy white, but tends to almost become coral pink as the morning sunshine dances in. Eugh, sunshine. Usually Marion would consider the sun-show beautiful, but this morning she reaches for the blinds and lowers them completely, striping the room in shadow.

The bathroom tiles are cold against her toes and she curls them up, pulling her t-shirt over her head and brushing her hair out of her face. The mirror reflects it back at her in startling truth. She has bruise-like half-circles under her eyes and bed-hair that would put any teenage boy to shame. But Marion doesn’t bother looking too hard, moving away to turn the water on. When she finally steps into the shower, the water feels like kisses on her skin and she closes her eyes against the heat. It’s so easy to forget about inevitable consequences when you’re shrouded in sweet-smelling steam. For that, Marion is grateful.

~The morning passes much as she expected. Marion takes an aspirin, feels better, puts on her only pair of jeans, leaves her hair down and cleans her room of evidence of the night before. Nothing gets past the dictators of the house though; she’s always known that. Breakfast is a stony affair. Marion’s parents look at her across the kitchen table and say very little. All she hears are fragments. Words like ‘irresponsible’ and ‘what were you thinking’ pepper the air around her apathy. She eats a piece of toast with increasing lethargy and studies the marbled surface of the bench top. It’s so easy to cut yourself off; you just can’t meet anyone’s eyes. Especially not beautiful, clear ones that make you feel entirely disjointed. Especially not then.

Marion gets down off her stool and takes her plate to the sink. Her parents don’t say anything else, the silence a blissful relief. She takes the opportunity to retreat upstairs. Marion isn’t planning to go to school, not today, not when there are more important things afoot. She’s already got an idea, half-baked at the back of her mind. She has to do  _something_.

The house next-door has shown no signs of life since Thursday night and it worries her. It’s no longer simple, and it’s never been easy, but Marion knows she has to prove herself. Somehow. Her chest twinges, with guilt perhaps? Fear? She can’t tell the difference anymore. The only thing she’s sure of is Siobhan. She’ll deal with the complications later.

~

Marion decides to visit the café Siobhan took her to after her frantic escape from school only a few days ago. It feels like time has stretched and bent around the appearance of this entirely remarkable girl, she thinks, isn’t it amazing how quickly things can change?

Marion pushes the glass door open with a tentative hand, the bell ringing loudly into the messy interior, still as warm and homely as she remembers. It makes her miss Siobhan fiercely; regret slicing through her resolve with a dull pain. The girl probably doesn’t even really like her like that anyway. It’s amazing what people will do when they’re drunk. Maybe it was just me, Marion thinks in increasing panic, maybe I’m just reading too much into it. She probably does that sort of thing all the time.

A soft cough brings her back to herself; the same barista from the other day is looking at her expectantly, cloth in hand, with the easy smile ever-present on his wide face.

         “You’re Siobhan’s girl, aren’t you? She brought you in here on Monday.”

His voice dances around her. Marion blushes fiercely.

         “I w-wouldn’t say I w-was her ‘g-girl’ or anything like that.” She clears her throat and straightens her back. “I was just wondering if you could inform me of the location of this proposed ‘concert’ that was mentioned on Monday. She never said.”

The boy laughs.

         “Listen to you, all posh and uppity, speaking fancy like that.” His grin lurches cheerily in the gloom. Marion looks down at the floor. “Look, you seem like a sweet girl. I’ll tell you something. Siobhan doesn’t bring people here unless she really likes them. So do me a favour and be clear with her. Don’t you dare change your mind and break her heart if you decide one way and then another. You know?”

Marion does know. She’s worried that Siobhan thinks that she’s done exactly that.  But she just nods, hoping the barista will believe that her morals are somewhat sound. He seems to take it in stride, nodding back jerkily.

         “Fine. The gig is here. Upstairs. We converted the loft for those sorts of things. Do come along rich girl. She’d want you here.”

Marion smiles tightly at him.

         “Thank you.”

         “Totally ok kiddo. Really.”

He goes back to wiping the tables down, whistling eerily as Marion turns to leave, the bell echoing discordantly. Now she’ll be able to at least see Siobhan. Show her that she’s brave. She’ll go. She’ll go along and show her. 

~

Saturday finally arrives, smelling of sweet winter air and possibilities. Marion takes hours of the morning to put together an outfit. Her mind ricochets nervously from one thought to another. What does one wear to a concert?

She’s only ever gone to the opera, arm through her father’s and a dress fitted about her shoulders, showing her off like a flower. She gets the distinct feeling that tonight’s concert is not so much an event but an  _experience,_ so she dresses accordingly.

She spends hours digging through boxes in the attic, unearthing treasures. Marion even finds a pair of scuffed doc martins and an old leather jacket, patched at the elbow, in a cardboard box. The jacket fits her perfectly, and smells like old soap. She stands up and twirls, feeling its comforting weight, watching her speckled reflection in an ancient mirror. Marion decides that it’s perfect. It makes her feel braver, somehow. 

As the afternoon wears on she’s feeling so confident that she even ventures into her mother’s makeup box. The bedroom smells faintly of lavender and talcum powder, a lonely odour that hangs around every sound and movement Marion traces through the air. It’s an unsettling atmosphere, and it practically _tastes_ like loneliness. She realises there’s more to her mother than she’s ever let on, and that thought niggles at her. But either way, Marion’s keen to get out of there as soon as she finds what she needs. Nobody likes the smell of premature decay and self-doubt. It does nothing but conjure fear. And everybody knows how dangerous that can be. 

The scarlet lipstick that Marion paints carefully on her lips makes her feel dangerous, the curves of her mouth fiercely defined with a dull fire. So too does the shadow that dusts her eyelids with the colour of melancholy itself. It’s a dark purple that hovers deliciously, as if it’s not really a part of her skin at all. _I could get used to this._

_~_

Meanwhile, Saturday moves slowly but surely towards sundown. The trees outside Marion’s house are framed as skeletons against the pale sky. She closes the front door behind her and sighs against the dying rays for a second. There’s a fleeting temptation to linger.

She can’t help but feel that there’s gravity to leaving her house silent and empty on an evening like this. But that’s how it’s been for most of her life. She rattles around in the quiet like a marble in a doll’s house, adrift.  _I must remember,_  she thinks sadly, _I owe them nothing._ Marion turns on her newly booted feet and crunches across the gravel with the power of intent and a burning mouth.  _I like her, a lot._

 ~~~~~~~~~

_okay. authors note here for a second._

_This chapter was meant to continue up until the gig. But it’s already suuuuuuper long. So I had to cut it off. The other chapter’s already half written though. so i’ll deliver that in a couple of hours if people are still on board. (not bored.) okay? good._

_xo_


	7. Oh shit. She’s hot. and she can sing.

Marion steps through the café door, breathing in the heady scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The sound of conversation and distantly thumping drums wraps around her like an embrace.

 

It’s hardly recognisable as the same place she’d been no more than a day before; the space now packed with people and colourful light. The lamps have been covered with beautiful transparent filters, projecting eerie, moving colours across the patrons’ faces. These people are so full of energy that Marion feels breathless for a moment as she takes it all in. They are beautiful in their complete confidence.

Marion realises, with a flood of joy, that there is not a single person in this room who gives a shit. A grin spreads across her newly scarlet lips and she takes a step forward into the crowd. The people here are simply milling around, drinking in the patchwork of light, the counter of the coffee shop transformed into a bar. Marion breathes out in wonder,

         “This is the shit!”

A young woman passing her, drinks in hand, hears the soft exclamation and grins with all her teeth.

         “It really is, isn’t it?” Her voice is smooth and  _happy_ somehow by default. She’s dressed in a black tank top, dreadlocks piled messily above her head. Marion thinks she can see a tattoo on the girl’s wrist but isn’t sure what it is. Before she can work it out, the girl is waving her hands despite her drinks, seemingly unable to control her enthusiasm for speaking itself. “You coming up to the gig later? We were about to head up.”

         “Uh, yeah. I was actually.” Marion can’t help returning the girl’s smile, it’s infectious and pretty, her face shifting under the lights. “I’m Marion. Pleased to meet you.”

         “Cosima.” The girl puts her drinks down on a nearby table just to shake her hand. She tilts her head to one side and pushes her glasses higher on her nose as if trying to see Marion better. “You nervous or something?”

         “I’m sorry?”

         “Nah, don’t worry, I was just wondering why you’re talking like that and acting all jumpy.” She waves her hand, wrist circling hypnotically through the air as if dancing to a dance track that only she can hear,  “I’m sorry. You just have sad painted in your eyes and I wondered why. Do you want to come and sit with my girlfriend and I? She’s French, you see.” The last words are accompanied with a wink and a proud smirk.

Marion can’t help following her after that, a bemused look creased into her forehead. Cosima gathers her drinks back up and walks through the crowd with unbelievable effortlessness and grace.

~~

Marion spends half an hour laughing with Cosima and the French girlfriend who, as the wink suggested, is unbelievably attractive. They’re both scientists, she discovers, and all three spend the time drinking questionable cocktails and debating ethics. After her second pink cocktail, Marion finds her hand gestures grow almost as wide as Cosima’s.

         “Nah. You’re being too conservative. Human cloning is happening for sure, now or soon. It’s kind of inevitable. If there is enough patent law in place for biological material then responsible organisations can monitor the expansion of experiments like that.” She trails off, forgetting exactly what it was she was getting passionate about, but decides to finish with a loud, “Don’t you think?”

Cosima and the French girlfriend- Delphine her name is- dissolve into giggles.

         “The only thing I know right now… is that you’re totally tipsy, whatever the science,” Cosima chuckles, reaching her arms up above her head to stretch like a small, muscly cat. “We should really get upstairs anyway, that gig’ll start in 3 mins, or something. Whatever though, I’m always late. Delphine knows that.”

Delphine is looking at the small dreadlocked girl as she speaks with a small smile on her lips, and Marion can see the love in her eyes. It holds such intensity of emotion that the younger girl clears her throat and attempts to stand. She wonders if Siobhan will ever look at her like that. Marion finds that standing up involves swaying slightly; she grabs the table with a giggle.

         “Wow, I think I really am a little drunk. Mmmm.”

Cosima grabs her elbow and holds Delphine’s hand with the other, steering them toward the stairs.

         “Come on, kiddo, let’s get you up there for some dancing. The band’s meant to rock. Our friend Sarah’s the drummer tonight, I think.”

         “She is,” smiles the French-woman, blonde hair bouncing along with her nod, “Sarah’s a punk-rock ho, I believe you would say.”

Marion mounts the stairs with friendly laughter ringing in her ears and thinks, for the first time of the night, that she’ll find Siobhan and make her see.  _Of course I will._

~~

When she emerges into the loft it is nothing like she imagined.  _Whoa, this place is cool._ It’s packed with people and she can see, at the far end of the long room, a stage dotted with shadowy figures, tuning guitars and adjusting microphones. Marion finds herself drawn into the crowd, away from the trapdoor, Cosima and Delphine, surrounded by laughing, sweaty bodies. She waits for her usual anxiety to set in, pushing her hands into the leather jacket’s pockets and looking down at the beer-soaked floorboards. But this time, the panic does not eat her alive, her lungs are full and brimming instead, with a kind of hopeful happiness and excitement.

Hell, she hasn’t felt this unshackled in ages. One only has to look at the facts. Her parents have no idea where she is, the alcohol has taken glorious effect, and she’s wearing boots and a leather jacket for Christ’s sake! With this expanding relaxation, Marion unfolds herself into the crowd as the first chords of electric guitar soar over their heads to kiss the roof.

She’s jostled gently by denim and cotton, almost embraced by these strangers as a sister of sorts. A sister for the night, for the music. And what music it is, rough and grating, like a hungry kiss, reaching into the centre of Marion’s chest and breathing a heat into every muscle. It reminds her of sitting up at her windowsill and hearing Siobhan’s parties next-door. It reminds her of Thursday night, a frantic heartbeat sparking a kiss that sent an ache into the very centre of everything Marion thought she was.  _I have to find Siobhan,_ she thinks dizzily,  _I need to tell her how my heart is beating._ The chords are still pounding, a drum kit crashing through the sound with an energy that the crowd seems to pulse with now; hands rising to the ceiling in a strange, emotional salute.

When the singer’s voice begins in soft husky croon, rising in a smooth arc above the now purring bass and guitar, Marion walks towards the stage in a daze. She has the strange feeling that she’s heard the voice before; its melancholy reaches into her very soul and tells a familiar story.

Her steps part the crowd gently, and it isn’t long before she can see the singer, curled around the microphone with excruciating emotion. During the chorus the singer lifts her chin to the crowd with a proud defiance and Marion is able to see her face. An involuntary gasp escapes her lips as the lyrics bruise the air around her and Siobhan sings with the same pain she left lingering in the curtains of Marion’s bedroom.

_I’m the shadow of these frozen trees// a fearful whisper at your window, love// these chocolate lies told with ease// you’d do anything for a bit of fun//_


	8. anger, betrayal and love

The song blisters to an end with such energy that the crowd is silent for a few seconds; baited breath as the melodies shimmer away. They feel as though they’d be able to distinguish the colours of sound in the air if they looked hard enough. Marion had always thought music like this could be touched, she’d just never  _seen_ it quite like this before. It’s beautiful, and not entirely real.

 

She watches as, like a ripple, the crowd roars to life. It starts at the back of the room and surges up to meet the stage, Siobhan grinning wildly into the darkness. Marion joins in the thunderous applause, her palms stinging with the impact. Her heart is large and aching in her chest as she gazes up at the girl above her.

Siobhan’s never looked more beautiful; black t-shirt and short tartan skirt, her skin pale and flawless, her eyes wide and excited. She’s pulled her hair into pigtail plaits but, in the emotion of the song, her fringe has come unpinned, curling playfully over one eye. Everything is loud and full of unapologetic enchantment. Marion is still lost, tears springing to her eyes, as the chords for the band’s next song rip out of the amplifiers by the stage.

The crowd is still screaming its appreciation; this next song is rough and emotional in an entirely different vein. Siobhan bends towards them, arching around the microphone with a somehow delicate violence. The song sings straight through Marion’s chest and she almost laughs with the giddiness of it all.  _I’m at a rock concert. I’m drinking. I made friends with a dreadlocked scientist and her French girlfriend. I’m watching a girl I may or may not have just fallen in love singing at the front of a band._ It feels like the best kind of ridiculousness. So she gathers the jacket around herself and launches into the jumping, dancing crowd, shouting hoarsely along in wordless passion.

~

After Siobhan and her band have finished playing the loft empties out pretty quickly and leaves the inevitable debris of alcohol-fuelled fun littered like confetti across the room. There are empty bottles and cups all over the floor, torn t-shirts, and the occasional broken mobile phone. Marion tiptoes through the mess, trying to see if the band has emerged from backstage. They haven’t. She tries not to think that Siobhan is waiting for her to leave before coming out.

She moves to the edge of the room, where the floor is clean and a couple of chairs have been left behind,  _I just have to wait. She needs to see that I came. I need to tell her._ Marion’s sobered up now, and instantly misses the dulling effect the alcohol had on her guilt and fear. Oh dear. She slumps into the chair, boots swinging mournfully at the end of her tired legs. Her eyes are so heavy they flutter shut, it’s just so quiet in here now, and she’s warm.  _I love her. That has to be enough._

~

The next thing Marion hears is a steady tread on the floorboards, unmistakeably heading towards her.  _Ah shit. What time is it? Siobhan?_

Marion blinks owlishly awake and tries desperately to distinguish the figure in the dark, sitting up rapidly and rubbing at her eyes. The footsteps draw up right in front of her, and now Marion can’t even pretend to not know who it is.

         “Um. Hi.”

Siobhan raises an eyebrow, mouth flat and stony with no trace of her usual smile.

         “What are you doing here?”

The words hit Marion like a slap in the face. She blinks away the sudden burning in her eyes and clears her throat as calmly as she can manage. Her fingers knot into anxious fist as she speaks.

         “I c-came to f-find you and apologise.”

The other girl laughs coldly and shakes her head,

         “Wow. Okay. Apologise. What for, exactly?”

         “For Thursday. I n-never wanted you t-to…”

         “Okay, shit.” Siobhan’s eyes are stony beyond belief. Marion can’t see affection, pity, anything in their depths. “I really don’t need or want to hear this right now, rich bitch.”

Marion can feel a sob rising in her throat. She looks determinedly at a spot of the wall behind Siobhan’s head before she speaks again.

         “N-no you don’t understand…” Her breath comes out shaky and she grits her teeth in frustration. “I wanted to tell you. That it isn’t w-what you think at all! I- I really, really like you. That why I’m h-here.” Her breath is ragged and the familiar panic frightens her with a sob. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Siobhan worries her bottom lip between her teeth with a sigh,

         “Fuck.” She can see Marion shaking slightly and suddenly understands why she came. “Shhhh, alright. Come here. It’s okay. Marion, c’mon.”

Marion stumbles towards her with an endless movement of inevitability. Her ribs are small against Siobhan’s, and the erratic rise and fall of her breathing is like that of a terrified animal.

She lets the girl sob into her shoulder with a trembling relief. The warmth of her makes Siobhan feel incredibly vulnerable, at what point had she let this small, privileged ball of anxiety get this important to her?

People say that the pain of love comes through empathy, and a broken desire to see someone happy. Tonight, Siobhan agrees with every fibre of her being. Her hands shake as they stroke Marion’s hair and she tries not to cry.

         “It’s okay, darling. I’m sorry. I understand, I do.”

 


	9. marmalade toast and bruised limbs (you’re under my skin)

~~

Marion wakes up warm and criminally comfortable somewhere that she knows that she’s never been before. She’s lying on one side of a large mattress piled with blankets that’s sitting directly on the floor. It’s indicative of disorganisation, but certainly more comfortable than her bed at home.

It takes a second for these surroundings to register.  _Shit. I’m not at home._

 

Raising herself on one elbow, Marion looks about blearily, seeing the extent of the clutter inhabiting the room. It’s definitely messy, but not dirty. There’s always a clear distinction.

“Hello?”

Her voice is soft and unsure; nobody appears to tell her where exactly she’s woken up. She flops back against the pillows and looks around the room in curiosity.

Piles of clothes and books appear to have entirely taken over all available space, they turn the wooden floor into an obstacle course of epic proportions and the possibility of many a stubbed toe.

The absence of a bed-frame lends Marion a clear view of the chaos from very close to the floor, and she finds herself thinking that the whole atmosphere is rather charming; natural light oozing in through a large sheet that’s hanging from two nails over the window behind the bed. It makes the room look like it’s underwater, sunlight trickling in over honeyed wooden furniture and up the walls.

A creak from the door in the corner, so covered in posters that Marion had not previously discerned its shape from the rest of the wall, pulls her gaze away from the window. A familiar figure is moving through the doorframe, quietly, so not to disturb her.

It’s Siobhan; she pulls the door shut behind her, a tentative grin on her face and her arms laden with plates.

         “Uh, hey. You’re awake, good-morning. I brought y-you breakfast.”

Marion sits up with a small sigh of relief. Of course she’s at Siobhan’s.

Siobhan’s. In her bed.  _Oh shit._

         “M-morning.” Marion yawns hugely. “I hope you don’t mind me asking b-but… What happened last night?”

         “It’s okay.” Siobhan’s smile is gentle as she sits next to Marion and places a plate of toast and sliced apple on her lap. “I just brought you back from the gig. You were really out of it. I just thought it’d be easier if you stayed here rather than face your parents at 3am…” 

Marion laughs softly.

         “Yeah. You’d be right there. Father’s going to be furious.”

The older girl grimaces at this, reaching towards her hand with gentle concern as if to hold it. But her fingers stop centimetres before they touch, shaking in the air slightly before being withdrawn as quickly as they’d come.

         “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Just eat something and get your energy up.” Siobhan places the rest of the plates on the floor by the bed and pushes her hair out of her face. “I’ll have to deposit you home at around noon though. I have a protest I’m meant to be raging at this afternoon.”

“A protest?” Marion looks up, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “What about?”

Siobhan smiles,

         “Half the people going won’t care, I promise you. But for me it’s a chance to get angry about something worthwhile.” She picks up a piece of apple from the plate now slipping off Marion’s bent knees as she wriggles to sit upright amongst the covers. “It’s a rally against the shit-storm of new laws against free speech.” Siobhan grins. “Ironic, really. Fighting them with exactly what they’re trying to outlaw.”

The apple crunches loudly in the following quiet, Siobhan flopping backwards against Marion’s bent legs. They’re comfortable together, companionable silence filling the spaces between words. 

         “Cool.” Marion chews her toast thoughtfully. She reaches up and plays with a strand of Siobhan’s hair where it brushes the blanket, winding it around her index finger gently. “Can I come?” 

         “Hmmm.” Siobhan’s eyes flutter shut, distracted by the feeling of the other girl’s skin by her cheek. She thinks that perhaps the room is so beautifully quiet that she can hear Marion’s pulse. But nevertheless a crease of worry works it’s way gently between her eyebrows at the other girl’s question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. There’ll be media coverage. Besides, it’s going to get pretty rough by my predictions. Not really your scene, Marion.”

The younger girl snorts with indignation, tugging on a lock of Siobhan’s hair in protest.

         “I have a scene? Really. Pretending you know me so well now, huh?”

         “Ow! Leave me alone. You know what I mean.”

Marion removes the plate from her lap, smiling slightly. Siobhan is looking at her now, waiting for a response, but instead Marion wriggles her legs out from underneath her and sends the dishevelled older girl sprawling backwards on the mattress with an undignified yelp.

         “Nope,” Marion says, popping the ‘p’ on her lips with extreme satisfaction. Her grin hurts her cheeks as she leans over Siobhan and breathes her next words into the girl’s ear. “Actually, I don’t think I do know what you mean. Can you explain that to me?”

         “Ah shut up.” Siobhan’s voice comes out husky as she lifts herself up on her elbows. She’s so close to Marion’s face now that her breath ghosts off the flustered pink cheeks above her with unbearable softness.

Marion shivers and licks her lips slightly.

         “Make me.”

Siobhan blinks slowly, looking down at Marion’s lips with her heart hammering in her throat. They both move to close the gap between them at the same time, lips colliding with a feverish longing. Siobhan kisses hungrily, tongue curling along Marion’s lower lip and arching up to press against her.

Marion can swear she hears the music from last night again, echoing beautifully with rough drumbeat roar in her ears as Siobhan’s hand skids up the planes of her stomach, palm rough and hot on her skin.

Marion pushes her down into the mattress and moves her lips to trail messily down the exposed skin of Siobhan’s neck. Her mouth is hot and urgent; sucking at the pulse she can feel fluttering under her tongue. Siobhan groans at the contact, balling her fist in the material of Marion’s shirt, the same white button-down from the night before.

“Shit.” Her voice trembles and judders off the syllable as Marion bites down roughly into the skin of her shoulder.

         “Does this mean I can come to the protest?” Marion murmurs the words against Siobhan’s throat, lips curling into a smile. She hums, tracing the hollows of the other girl’s collarbone with the tip of her tongue. “Pretty please?”

         “Y-yes,” Siobhan breathes erratically, closed eyelids fluttering with every brush of Marion’s lips. “Yes… O-okay.”

         “Excellent.” Marion pulls away, sitting up and reaching for the rest of her clothes, ignoring Siobhan’s soft groan of disappointment. “I need to find an outfit for this protest then. Can’t go looking shabby.”

         “Especially not in your current ensemble,” Siobhan mutters with a chuckle from the bed, sense of humour returning as her heartbeat slows. “Designer label button-down paired with awesome leather jacket? It’s a hilarious contradiction.”

         “Hey!” Marion swats at her playfully, pulling on socks with the other hand. “You’re so rude. I like it. I worked so hard to get it right, too.” She pouts, bottom lip still swollen from their kisses.

Siobhan rolls over and muffles her laughter in the blankets before sitting up and leaning over to brush Marion’s hair away from her face, kissing her cheek. “Don’t worry Marion, it may be a try-hard fashion disaster, but at least it’s a hot one.”

Their giggles and Marion’s blushing protest form the soundtrack to a honeyed morning of digging through Siobhan’s wardrobe and the occasional pillow fight. We’re off to a protest, Marion thinks dizzily, holy shit.

~~~~

_again. it got too long and cute to actually get to the protest in this chapter. bother. you’ll just have to keep reading!! huuuhhhhh. what a pity._


	10. burning cars, beating hearts, just kiss me princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mid-riot car sex. nsfw sort of

Later on, Siobhan’s mother makes them lunch, fussing around like a large, colourful hen. Her name is Brigid, as she loudly announces after Marion’s emergence from Siobhan’s bedroom, and she has the odd habit of wildly waving her arms about when making any form of conversation.

This is a mannerism that has already accounted for the destruction of two teacups during the morning, Siobhan cleaning up each with an abundance of eye rolling, but Marion thinks the excitable, tea-towel wielding woman is nothing less than hilarious.

 As the two girls sit down to the sandwiches she has prepared them, Brigid clucks in a loud and concerned manner, voicing her motherly worries on the subject of the afternoon’s protest. Marion is not used to such things, she sits in a daze at the end of the large kitchen table.

_My mother would only care about me going to something like this if it meant dirtying her reputation. Or if it meant ruining my chance of making her look good._

The truth of her thoughts hit Marion fiercely; taking the air from her lungs as effectively as falling out of a tree did when she was small.

All of a sudden Marion finds it difficult to swallow and discovers that the grain of the wooden table is endlessly fascinating, tracing the cool surface with the tip of one finger and blinking furiously to clear her suddenly blurry vision.

Siobhan looks at her curiously above the mess of plates that now litter the table’s surface. Despite being the subject of her mother’s current lecture, Siobhan reaches under the table and takes Marion’s trembling fingers gently in her own, squeezing ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkle from across the table as if they were whispering love into the warm kitchen air.

Brigid however, is still loudly announcing her concerns. This is a clear consequence of keeping updated with the news during the morning, hearing accounts of other town’s rallies. These things never help to settle a mother’s mind.

         “You be careful, chickens. Don’t you participate in any of this violence they’re talking about on the news. Good cause, terrible execution. Shocking.” She shakes her head fiercely, cheeks almost swaying with the movement. Brigid is motherly in both stature and action; filling the kitchen with the smell of warm bread and taking up space. Marion thinks that she’s never seen anyone so full of love and genuine over-protective instinct, still talking wildly over the sink whilst peeling potatoes.

“You look at Marion here, Siobhan darling. She’s the sort of girl who would never do things like that!”

Marion looks up from her cheese sandwich with a sympathetic grimace across the table at Siobhan, who’s now humming in non-committal agreement with her mother’s anxieties.

         “Yes Mum, she’s very sensible.” Siobhan doesn’t miss the opportunity to wink when Brigid’s back is turned. “Absolutely stellar influence to change my miscreant ways.”

Her sarcastic drawl does not go unnoticed by her mother, who turns and cuffs her around the ear with a gentle hand.

         “Don’t be smart with me.” Brigid’s smile is more full of love than annoyance, but her tone ricochets sharply around the room. “Eat your toast, would you, at least you won’t be able to blame me for your malnutrition.”

Marion can’t stop the smile that creeps across her pale cheeks as the two women of the house argue in shattered laughter around her.

_This must be what family feels like._

~~

The afternoon draws its way into long shadows and honeyed light. Marion has her hand looped dizzily in Siobhan’s as they walk, tangled in laughter, past her school on their way to the centre of town for the protest. Somehow it still looks pale, uptight and nauseating from the outside, even in these circumstances. I _f being with Siobhan doesn’t even make this place okay then nothing will._

She finds herself able, however, to determinedly turn her gaze away and makes way for the feeling of inevitable excitement well up in her chest at the prospect of the night’s events.

Marion giggles lightly into the air, feeling a strange desire to see her happiness spit out into the air like bubbles at a birthday party.

         “Thank you, Siobhan… Really.” She punctuates her words by tugging, fiercely earnest, on their joined hands, and almost reaches out to trace the beautiful curve of the punk’s cheek where it’s kissed by the evening’s dying light.  

         “What for?” Siobhan’s words are drawn out lazily into the cool air, as sweet as her kisses and as full of longing.

The evening has never settled so beautifully, nor has this familiar street ever felt so fantastical and unreal. Marion struggles to breathe for a second, watching Siobhan close her eyes slightly with the gentleness of her words. 

         “Everything.”

~~

They walk for another couple of minutes before the sound of distant shouting is heard like the rough and faint strains of a long forgotten song.

         “You hear that?” Siobhan has a light in her eyes that Marion has only ever seen once before. It’s honesty and intensity can only be compared to that tipsy Thursday night, in the second right before Marion tumbled down the proverbial rabbit hole of teenage reckless abandon and aching attraction. Marion nods dumbly, still looking at the other girl’s obvious smile and excitement. 

The two draw closer to the noise, catching sight of a huge mass of people, cars and signage. A young man detaches himself from the group and strides over, smiling slightly in obvious recognition of Siobhan. She raises a hand briskly, in some kind of personalised salute, and shouts roughly as he approaches.

         “Lieutenant Benjamin! How goes it on the front line?”

The boy’s creased and hollow face is strange close-up, Marion thinks, as if he’s far older and wiser than he lets on. The very same face however, breaks into a wide grin at Siobhan’s address.

         “Not as well as it would be going with you, S. You’re our general after all. Get your sorry arse up there!”

Benjamin, as Siobhan called him, seems to finally catch sight of Marion at this point. His eyebrows promptly travel halfway up his forehead and he shoots a sly glance at Siobhan before bowing deeply and taking Marion’s hand in both of his leathery ones.

“Fair maiden. Welcome to the people’s army’s latest cause. I’m Benjamin Kertland.

Call me either lieutenant or Ben, whatever suits.” He nods then, comically serious.

“You can enter the protest as ‘soldier’ and level up to ‘captain’ as soon as you start yelling in an uncouth manner.Much like your sweet girlfriend, who I, and the other pack of miscreants, will address as ‘the general’.”

The denim-jacket clad girl at his elbow blushes fiercely, clearing her throat and staring intently at the ground.

Benjamin looks Marion straight in the eyes, “But you feel free to call her ‘babe’ okay? Is this understood?”

Marion returns his level gaze until the hilarity of the whole situation makes her snort forcefully and she begins to cough and giggle simultaneously, doubled up and glowing. 

         “N-nice to meet you, Benjamin.” She gasps happily into the cold air with another giggle. “Oh- Oh my god. Siobhan. Y-your face.”

The punk scowls at her; ears still bright pink, as she moves to swat Benjamin forcefully on the arm.

         “Shut up, both of you.”

The three of them walk then, Benjamin arm-in-arm with Marion, towards the protest, laughter still shattering the air around them.

~~

When the night falls around them, Marion’s throat is raw from shouting and her heart beats painfully loud in her chest. Benjamin has taken to calling her ‘princess’, and stubbornly refuses to reconsider the nickname- “It suits her, S! Stop being a spoilsport.”

The people around them have become a wild crush of bodies, a desperately _alive_ flood of soul.

The police are soon to arrive though, stepping out of shiny cars with an arrogance that’s visible to Marion from 100 paces away. They shout, gruffly, with no patience, and she can feel a familiar fury rise inside her chest, in harmony with the people around her.

Siobhan has clambered on top of a shiny SUV, parked outside the post office, and is loudly shouting abuse at the law enforcement who move closer inwards even as she screams.

         “Are you willing, darling coppers, to fight against the right to fight?” She is on fire in the night, her silhouette edged against an oddly pale night sky. The loudspeaker in her hand screeches horrendously before she can continue. “Do you dare to silence the people? These people stand before you as human beings with the right to self-governance and opinions. Do you dare silence these people?”

They do indeed dare, it seems, as the first wave of riot police hit the protest front line. Siobhan hardly seems surprised though, she hands the speaker down to waiting hands and springs down off the hood of the car.

         “Lieutenant Benjamin, my man!”

He weaves his way through the hollering crowd, seeing her wave.

         “Ben. This is it. The car bomb. Okay?”

Marion has made her way to Siobhan’s side by this stage, gripping her frayed sleeve in frantic fingers. She gasps at the girl’s words, disguising it as best she can in a violent cough.

         “I’m s-sorry, did you just say a car bomb?”

Benjamin winks at her,

         “The general did say that, princess. Buckle up. The party has really started now!”

He lopes off into the darkness; car alarms and a sudden loud explosion quickly follow his disappearance. Marion can see a flickering glow from one street over, and the group around her move towards its blood red flame. The police run ahead, almost hilarious in such panic, their badges shining in the darkness.

One young cop stays behind though, checking that the rest of her number have rounded the corner before she approaches Siobhan and Marion, who still stand by the abandoned SUV.

         “Hello, S. That fire will keep them busy for a while. You’re doing a good job tonight.” The girl smiles shyly, chewing on a thumbnail and scuffing a boot against the curb.

Siobhan grins at her.

         “Still a double agent I see, rookie. You must be a pain in the arse to train!”

The girl just smiles at this and offers Siobhan a piece of gum, the punk shaking her head slightly in an apologetic response.

“Nah Childs. I operate on alcohol and cigarettes only, you know that.”

Marion’s mouth must be hanging open by this stage, because the cop sees her bewilderment and laughs softly at her, reaching out slowly to shake her hand.

         “The name’s Beth. S and I go way back, so I can’t do my job properly when she’s around. Don’t look too surprised.”  

 ~~

The cop hangs around for only a few more minutes, leaving reluctantly with- “I’m going to be in so much shit if Art finds out I’m not there.”

Marion decides that she like the nervous young cop, her kindness and light tinged with a detectable fear and sadness that is not unlike Marion’s own anxiety. But as Beth rounds the corner and is swallowed up into the night, Siobhan and Marion are left in ringing silence, the cold air making the younger girl shiver slightly, like a dying leaf in the wind.

         “Shit, Marion, you’re cold. Come here.”

She folds herself into Siobhan’s arms, immediately thawing her hands as she pushes them under warm fabric and against the other girl’s skin. Siobhan jumps at the contact, grabbing Marion’s hands from their uncomfortably cold position and lacing their fingers together. Marion looks up at her disapprovingly.

         “Hey! I was warm there.”

Siobhan only smirks, pinning both her wrists between strong fingers and spinning Marion around to push her back up against the SUV. The car window is like a smooth pane of ice, piercing her through with a beautiful, delicate cold. Marion frowns lightly, trying to make her eyes look serious. She can still hear the distant sound of shouting and breaking glass; it’s a symphony of infinite complexity. 

         “That w-was rude.”

The breathy sentence does nothing to loosen Siobhan’s hold on her hands, only making the other girl’s eyes grow dark and flicker down to watch Marion’s lips form the words. The sight makes Marion’s stomach ache. She breathes shakily and reaches to cup the back of Siobhan’s head, drawing her face sweetly closer. _C-closer._

This time they kiss like they haven’t before. The contact is gentle, slow, and gaspingly impatient. Marion presses upwards into Siobhan’s warmth; breath catching in the depths of her lungs. But the other girl pushes her firmly back against the car’s unyielding metal with a disapproving noise.

         “ _This morning_  was rude. I’m just paying you back-”

Marion’s lips, laughing and insistent, muffle the sentence with glorious intent. She murmurs, smiling into breath and desperate mouth.

         “Just- shut up.”

They’re a mess of hot lips and movement, tumbling backwards against the SUV. Siobhan’s tongue dances along Marion’s lips, teeth brushing ever so slightly along behind as if to mirror every movement. Marion mewls in impatience, lips answering in glorious give and take. The sound judders right to the centre of Siobhan’s being, closed eyelids fluttering with its resonance. She reaches desperate hands around Marion’s back, fingers pressing into the spaces between the younger girl’s ribs and pulling her upwards.  _Closer._

Marion gets doubtful, shy even, as her trembling fingers move to trace the spaces of hot skin mapped out on Siobhan’s stomach. However, the other girl arches into her touch and groans, deep in the back of her throat, answering every point of contact with honest desire.

         “C-car. Marion-” She breaks off, a gasp spinning into the night as Marion’s hand moves to trace the gentle curve of her breast underneath the fabric of her bra. “S-shit. The car.”

The younger girl hums in dizzy agreement and fumbles for the handle behind her, finding the lock conveniently broken.  _Perks of a violent protest,_ she thinks with a giggle.

Marion breaks their kiss to properly swing the door open, falling into the leather interior and pulling Siobhan in after her, hands balled desperately in the girl’s t-shirt. Their lips reconnect with a painful fire, tongues tangling with a song so fierce that Marion can’t trace the source of the sound. Perhaps the night is singing.

Siobhan’s t-shirt comes off somewhere between getting into the car, the door closing, and Marion’s jeans being shimmied down her legs amid giggles and throaty swear words. The feeling of her fingers tracing desperate lines along the planes of Siobhan’s shoulder blades soars up into the darkness of the car’s interior. 

The two girls’ desperate breaths fog the windows deliciously, especially as Siobhan trails kisses down Marion’s neck, drawing patterns with a careful tongue. Marion shivers into every point of contact, taking another, sharper breath as Siobhan unhooks her bra and presses a gentle kiss to the swell of one breast. When Siobhan’s face moves lower, gently exploring Marion’s stomach and the sharp peaks of her hipbones, the girl beneath her rolls up into the contact with a soft moan.

         “F-fuck.”

Their movements fall into an endlessly sweet rhythm of give, take and groan in wordless pleasure. Siobhan’s mouth is now hot and insistent on the inside of Marion’s thigh, the feeling of the other girl’s arousal prompting a feline grin. _This night has been a complete success, in every possible way._

When Marion comes, and she does come, spun out of desperate moans and tattooed heartbeat, she clenches wildly around Siobhan fingers, holding the punk to her with an urgent grip. She sees stars and flames, as if the car they’re in was the one designated to catch fire during the protest.  _I’m so screwed,_ Marion thinks wildly,  _I think I might just love her with everything that makes me who I am._

But it’s easy to pretend that Siobhan feels similarly when the girl is folded in around Marion, all tremble and moan. Marion has no idea what she’s doing, but Siobhan doesn’t seem to care, guiding her, and clearly reacting to each small success. Marion thinks that she could dance this tango forever, caught up in the very fabric of this broken punk’s soul. The night feels gloriously fractured to her now, as Siobhan paints the inside of the car with her own melody of release and honest adoration. Marion thinks that this might well have been her destination all along.

 And when the night falls silent, trembling to stillness once more, she is sure of it. It beats out a truth from underneath her ribs


	11. a judge of ice can freeze two hearts on fire?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confessions of love

They walk home in giggles, oddly shy, each attempting to start conversation and failing miserably. Marion just finds herself completely distracted by the memory of Siobhan half-naked with flushed cheeks, all for her, smiling at her, for her. The night is calm around them, like a pond after a stone has been thrown. It ripples back into silence with memory the only evidence that the disturbance ever occurred at all. 

 

When they reach the huge white gates of Marion’s house, hands curled sweetly together, Siobhan stops walking and just stares up at the canopy of suburban trees above them. The night has never felt more beautiful. Marion’s breath clouds into the frigid air. She clears her throat nervously, eyes fluttering closed for a second, chest burning with an entirely undeniable emotion.

         “I love you.”

The taller girl looks away from the trees, the silence hanging heavily around the two of them. She slowly moves a hand to trace Marion’s cheekbones, every second stretching languid in the quiet. Her response, when it finally arrives, is hushed but fervent.

         “I love you too, crazy.”

Marion smiles softly, painfully. These are words that are impossible to take back yet so easy to fake. She stands up on her newly booted toes to press their lips together. But before her mind has blurred into the warmth of Siobhan’s kiss, she hears the sound of a door opening behind her, muffled by the garden. It’s the door to her house, two shadowy figures stepping out of the grand doorway and clearing their throats loudly into the clear night air.

Siobhan steps back from Marion and into the shadow. Her worry is creased on her forehead, eyes stony cold below.

         “Shit. Is that your parents? Do you think they saw?”

Marion smiles lightly, reaching towards Siobhan and pulling her in by the lapels of her worn denim jacket for another gentle kiss.

         “I’m almost certain they did.” Marion’s fingers linger by the other girl’s cheek with unbearable softness but her lips curl into a grin, the ghost of every kiss painted into her certainty. “But you let me deal with that. Good night.” She looks up and holds Siobhan’s gaze, the icy eyes of the rebel burning into hers. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

The words spin off into the night loosely, as if they’d been said a thousand times before and would be again. So Marion turns on her heel, knowing that if she waits a second more, she will never go home again.

When she reaches the marble steps into the house, her parents make it startlingly clear that they did indeed see. The thing that takes Marion by surprise, however, is that her parents had not only seen the two girls’ cute display under the trees of their street, but also a video from the evening’s rally, released to them by the media. Marion tries not to let irrational fear immediately set in as she is ushered into the house and left in patches of stony silence.

         “They suggested that we might not want the public to see this,” her mother says, stalking around their marbled living room to retrieve the television remote. “And I suggest that even you could see why.”

Marion sits down roughly on the leather couch facing the screen, the back of her knees coldly scraping the surface. Her father lingers, silent with fury, perhaps, by the entrance hall, hands interlaced firmly in front of him. It’s odd being back in this house, Marion thinks, it feels so different after everything that’s happened. It doesn’t feel like ‘home’. The whole living area smells so foreign and cold to her that she even feels an odd urge to run away. That urge grows exponentially too, as the screen comes to life with a grainy image of the protest, Siobhan standing on the car and shouting into the megaphone, her recorded voice still as fierce and beautiful as it was in life. Marion can see herself, positioned by the car in passive support of the other girl, occasionally sharing a rough hug with Benjamin each time he went by. Marion’s fists lay clenched by her thighs. Exactly how long is this tape? What have they seen?

The image cuts out, returning moments after with a jump in time. The crowd has cleared, showing Beth, the young cop offering Siobhan a stick of gum and eventually jogging into the darkness to catch up with the rest of the law enforcement. Marion knows what’s coming next; she shifts in her seat and sighs.

         “Problem, Marion?”

Her mothers voice is sharp and furious whilst the picture moves relentlessly on the screen behind her. Picture Siobhan is pinning picture Marion to the blue shiny surface of the parked car, the passion of it not lost in film. The memory makes real Marion shiver. Her mother pauses the tape.

         “In case it has escaped your attention. You are the daughter of a very important businesswoman and a politician. If the media leaks this tape, your father’s campaign will be compromised. That would be inexcusable. You are not to see this girl ever again.”

Her mother’s words settle like sharp stones on Marion’s now shaking shoulders.

         “W-what?”

The fur clad woman in front of her shows no sign of having heard, turning the television off before finishing her sentence with an awfully definite and final full stop.

         “Am I clear, Marion? Never again.”

The girl on the leather sofa shivers uncontrollably, eyes feverishly darting around the room for a means to escape, but she manages to nod mutely at her mother.

         “C-can I go n-now? I’m t-tired.”

Her father takes a step towards her, brow creased in anger, concern and everything in between.

         “You can, Marion, you can.” He crouches down in front of her and reaches a fatherly hand to her brow. “I just hope you can forgive us. “ His voice tries its hand at sincerity. “It’s just that I have to earn money. My job is important to the whole family. That’s the awful fact of life. Besides, your mother just thought it would be best if-”

         “Yes, alright Stephen, that’s quite enough. She’ll be fine. Yes Marion, you can leave now.”

The room is silent as she rises from the leather couch and combs her hair back from her face with trembling fingers. Marion never could master the same gestures as Siobhan’s effortless, confident manner, but none of that seems to matter tonight. She has no idea how strict her mother is going to police the newly decreed law. She might well never see the rough girl from next door who sets her heart singing ever again. And as she mounts the stairs in her booted feet, Marion can still hear her mother’s sharp voice bouncing around the stone walls mercilessly below.

         “Miserable bitch.” 

~~~

(we have the story back on the road!! chapter 12 will be up rlly soon.)


	12. silent windows? lost cause? I love you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> siobhan is happy and in love. but there’s nobody home?

~~

Marion falls asleep fitfully, dreaming of shadows and laughter tinged with unspeakable fear.

 

Siobhan is only just across the alleyway, curled up in coloured blankets on her mattress. She is sleeping soundly, a smile upon her lips and phantom Marion whispering ‘I love you’ into the shell of her ear until morning.

~~

The sun, when it comes, is a swelling glow above the rooftops. Siobhan wakes with a grin already painted about her mouth, clambering out of bed and pulling on an old woollen jumper and jeans. She spins slowly around with her eyes half closed, breathing in deeply and letting her bare toes curl against cold floorboards with joy. Her bedroom still smells faintly of Marion’s perfume, like lavender and apple juice. It clings about the sheets, light and sweet, as if Marion herself had kissed Siobhan’s bedroom with memory and love.

The image of Siobhan’s girl-next-door clouded in a halo of light, kissing the air, makes the older girl laugh softly and hum to herself.  _My next song’s for her,_ she thinks lazily, _a song for falling in love and lust like a never-ending ache of absence between my ribs._

She feels foolishly full of giggles and happiness, as if she could run miles and write novels. Is this how love eats into one’s life? Siobhan doesn’t know. This has never happened to her before, this creeping feeling of bittersweet joy. But she decides that she likes it. Almost as much as she likes Marion.

~

Breakfast with Brigid is, as usual, an anxious affair. The large, bustling woman of the house quizzes her about the protest whilst making her pancakes and packing lunch for her day of school.

         “It was good, mum. I promise. Nothing happened. I just shouted into a loudspeaker a bit and then walked Marion back home.”

         “You did, did you?” Siobhan’s mother smiles gently into the frying pan, “Hmmm.”

Siobhan is unimpressed, setting her glass of orange juice down on the table more firmly than necessary.

         “What’s that supposed to mean?”

         “No, nothing love. I just noticed what a pretty girl she is. You seem fond.”

Her daughter rolls her eyes and shoves a pancake moodily into her mouth.

         “Fond. Huh.” Her words are muffled and disgruntled around the food.

Brigid smiles to herself, satisfied, even as Siobhan leaves the room with a rough kiss to her cheek and more unintelligible muttering.

Her daughter’s dopey grin whenever that girl Marion was in the room was hardly subtle. She’s pleased. Siobhan hasn’t been herself for months. This girl will do her good. Brigid’s heart is almost as full as Siobhan’s this Monday morning; she turns the radio on and smiles along with the catchy tune. The pancake below her turns caramel brown.

“My daughter’s in love.”

Her whisper fills the kitchen with a hopeful breath and mixes with the steam billowing from the kettle.

~~

Siobhan waits by Marion’s garden gate, shuffling her feet to keep warm in the morning’s chill. The air is still and quiet like a pane of glass. It etches itself, continuous and smooth, from the endless pale sky to the rough concrete below her feet.

_Where is she?_

There’s no sign of Marion’s slender frame at her bedroom window, nor is there movement by the front door. She can see the girl’s parents in the kitchen, stiff and predictable, but they’re the only sign of life. _Maybe she’s already gone,_ Siobhan thinks to herself, and reluctantly leaves the gateway, slouching down the street to the bus stop, looking over her shoulder hopefully as she goes. When she rounds the corner, boots crunching in cold, dead leaves, she sees Beth, Sarah Manning (her band’s drummer) and another girl she doesn’t know, who stand already waiting. Their breath clouds thick into the cold.

         “Hey losers.”

Siobhan’s voice sounds far away, even to her own ears. The bus stop is all hard lines and impatience over her head. Beth turns and grins in recognition, gently beginning to speak. She’s uniformed and quietly spoken, as usual, cheeks burnt pink by the teeth of frost.

         “Hey Siobhan.” She smiles, “I take it my crew didn’t catch you on the tail end of last night’s debacle then?”

Siobhan blushes and hopes they don’t see.

         “They didn’t, no.” She clears her throat and looks off into the empty street. “But I didn’t really follow much of, uh, what h-happened at the protest after, uh, you left actually.”

Sarah smirks knowingly and blows cigarette smoke up into the bus shelter’s roof.

The stranger standing next to her is wearing Marion’s uniform, Siobhan notices; she wonders where the girl fits in. But she doesn’t have much time to ponder as Sarah chuckles and reads her mind.

         “Good to see you, S. Are you going to tell me who she is?”

Her band-mate is predictably quick on the uptake. If there’s a sordid story to dig up, she’ll find it.

         “Fuck off, Sarah.”

Beth looks curiously between two of them, putting the pieces together, as the girl in uniform flinches at the Siobhan’s bad language and stands up even straighter. Siobhan wonders how stiff a human being can be before they actually snap.

         “Oh!” The young cop raises her eyebrows. “So you two _were_ together then! I wondered about that.”

Siobhan sighs heavily, trying to stop the smile that is threatening to take over her face.

         “Yeah. We are.”

Sarah rolls her eyes.

         “Oh my god. You’re gross. I thought you two were just going to shag and that would be the end of it.” She shakes her head with a grimace. “You’re so whipped, S, jesus christ.

         “I think it’s nice,” the prim and proper girl says softly, finally speaking, “I mean- from what Beth’s told me.”

Beth turns to Siobhan and shrugs apologetically.

         “Ah, Siobhan. You haven’t been introduced. This is Ali.” The cop turns to the short girl, who’s still impassive beneath a front fringe and bangs, eyes sparkling with something uncharacteristic to her usual soft and noncommittal demeanour.

         “Alison,” the girl corrects sharply, “Alison Hendrix. I know Marion from school.”

Sarah grinds her cigarette underneath a booted foot, sighing.

         “These two are almost as unbearable as you and Marion except princess over there hasn’t realised how much she wants to bend Childs over a table yet.” Sarah’s wink is hasty, as if she realises how much Beth is going to hate her for the words that have just left her mouth. And the cop delivers, lunging for the lanky drummer with a furious expletive.

         “You’re such a _shit,_ Sarah!”

But the foster kid is already running down the quiet street with Beth hot on her heels. They spit laughter into the air behind them like human exhaust fumes.

Alison tries to hide her smile, and Siobhan decides that she loves them all, even shrouded in frost and stupidity.

 

The bus is late.

 

~~

 

 


	13. a princess in this castle of ice and cruelty (let me in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siobhan battles the witch. and fails. 
> 
> (I wrote this so so quickly I'm sorry it's shit.)

When Siobhan finishes school she walks back past Marion’s house, kicking a stone along the path.

She’ll climb up to Marion’s window tonight if she has to; the girl hasn’t been answering her texts or calls, there’s just silence. She tries not to worry.  _Have I done something wrong? Did we move too quickly? Has she changed her mind?_

The doubt settles cold amongst the nest of her ribs. This creeping feeling is more violent than winter frost. It crawls into the very part of her that  _loves._ But she doesn’t want anything to happen to the feelings that bloomed there this morning. Everyone knows what happens to small flowers in winter.

~~

She’s only just farewelled the others. Beth seemed sadder than before and kept trying very hard not to look at Alison. The sky always appears to get darker when Beth’s in one of her moods. Siobhan worries about the young cop sometimes. She wishes she could be better at telling her.

They had climbed off the bus and broken the silence with stupidity and distracted yelling. Sarah was her usual snarky self, taking digs at Alison’s paranoia all the way down the road and pointing out her very obvious blush whenever Beth so much as looked at her. Siobhan left with only a tight smile and a wave of her fingers.

She stops walking when she arrives at the large white gates of Marion’s place, looking up hopefully at her bedroom as if she’d be waiting there just to say hello. She’s not, of course.

But Siobhan knows that Marion would be home by now; her shoes are by the front door and all three family cars are sitting in the garage. She decides to just knock on the door. That’s not a terrifying prospect. That’s what normal people do right? Even the rich ones.

What if something terrible has happened to Marion? How else is she supposed to find out?

With those thoughts spinning her in anxious motivation, Siobhan gently pushes the white metal gate just open enough for her to slip through. It’s silly, but for a second she expects alarms to go off as soon as her scuffed shoes touch the white gravel path inside. They don’t, of course, but the house looms even larger from this angle and Siobhan forces herself to breathe deeply a couple of times before starting off towards the shiny front door.

The pathway crunches under her feet, awfully loud in the way such polished pebbles do. The sound grates against her resolve and she tries to walk lighter to stop her toes sinking so horribly deep. It’s no use. Siobhan decides to run the last couple of steps, jumping to the relative safety of sandstone paving by the door. She sighs in relief, grinning to herself when she realises what a sight she would’ve made, tiptoeing across the pristine white gravelled garden.

To her horror, when Siobhan raises her head to straighten her clothes and knock on the door, there is already someone standing there. A very thin someone, a very pale, very sour woman with a face that could break diamonds. Siobhan groans internally and raises a timid hand to wave, warping her lips into something approximating a noncommittal smile.

The woman’s expression doesn’t change. She opens the door though, and speaks in a voice as steely as her eyes.

“Can I help you?”

Siobhan tries not to grimace. The woman’s eyes are eerily similar to Marion’s. Only fossilised and cruel.

“Uh. Yeah. I was hoping you could actually.” The woman doesn’t move, only narrowing her eyes slightly in consideration. “I’m looking for Marion? I’m her friend from next door.”

The fur-clad ice-queen who is still standing in the doorway frowns outright at this. When she answers, her voice sounds as smooth and cold as razor blades. Siobhan tries not to shudder.

“You’re the Sadler girl, yes?”

Siobhan nods mutely, frightened eyes looking up, all animal fear, at this merciless keeper of the house. She has no idea how Marion copes with living under the same roof.

“I’m afraid Marion’s not in.”

         “I’m sorry?” Siobhan raises her eyebrows and shrugs slightly. “Is she not home? I’m happy to wait until she does. It’s kind of important.”

The woman stiffens ever further.

         “That won’t be possible. I don’t think she wants to see you. Goodbye, Siobhan. I’m sorry.”

Siobhan thinks that she’s never heard anything so unapologetic in her whole life, but the woman still tries to smile around the words.  _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._  

Fear and anger seeps quickly into her veins.  _Doesn’t want to see me?_

         “Okay. I understand Mrs Bowles. Sorry to trouble you.”

_More like Mrs Bowels. Shitty._

Siobhan almost giggles out loud in suddenly terrified foolishness but Marion’s mother has already shut the door with a resounding snap.

Siobhan picks up her backpack from the steps and turns to face the huge garden.  _I can’t leave it like this,_   _I have to try and talk to her. To Marion._

Siobhan walks as if she’s heading towards the gate but moves quickly into the shadow of the large hedge the borders the road at the last moment.  _Good. I’ll be harder to see from the house now._

Following in its shelter, Siobhan is able to make her way close enough to Marion’s side of the house to see her bedroom window. She picks up a tiny pebble from her feet and smiles to herself, lobbing it up at the glass with satisfaction at the cliche. It judders off the surface with a light, almost melodic, note and falls back into the bushes below.

There’s no answer. No figure comes to the window and smiles nervously down like she used to. 

Siobhan’s heart suddenly throbs with the reality her absence.  _I need her in my life. The shaking fingers and shining eyes. All of it. If it means I can have her good days, I’ll take the bad._

Siobhan blinks hard to dispel the sudden burn that rises unbidden to her eyes, blurring the garden in front of her.  _Sarah’s right. I am whipped._ The thought prompts a watery smile. 

~

A large oak tree spans the airspace in between the house and the road, its trunk beginning not three paces from Siobhan and branches stretching right up close to a drainpipe on the house wall. She decides that if she’s going to have any chance of seeing Marion today, she’s going to have to take the climb. She’s done it once before, sure, but that was before an awful woman had suggested that Marion didn’t even want her there at all.

She dumps her backpack into a small hole in the hedge and breathes the crisp afternoon air with an awful excitement.  _Okay,_ she thinks to herself,  _here we go; I’m off to visit my princess in her castle guarded by fools and bitches._

_Bitches and fools on a cold day only serve to ice the flowers of love._

 

 

_~~~~~~~~~_

_(don’t worry losers there’ll be kissing and secrecy etc etc next time)_


	14. kiss me like sugar but hide from the snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cute then sad. :(

The bricks are rough and cold under Siobhan’s fingers as she desperately scales the last few metres to Marion’s bedroom window. The air is so cold now as the sun drops neatly below the trees that her fingers turn white. Siobhan focuses on not getting a cramp and falling off the wall. She’s thankful that she doesn’t have room in her mind for much else, gripping whatever handholds she’s lucky enough to find, she’ll deal with doubt and fear and secrets when she gets inside. A voice in her ear parrots creeping doubt, the kind that’s plagued her all day- ** _If_** _you get inside._ But she can’t let her mind get ahead of her.

 

Siobhan shakes her head and grits her teeth in determination to shimmy the final metres upwards, every muscle burning with exertion. She flings out her left hand wildly, finally in reach of the windowsill, catching hold and pulling her head up level to peer inside Marion’s room. Her breath mists thick on the glass pane, she hangs hopelessly to the rough, lingering warmth of the stone and tries to see past the obscured surface.

There’s movement inside the room. Siobhan can see a figure moving rapidly towards the window. It opens carefully with a creak of hinges; Marion becomes visible as she leans out and reaches down to grab one of Siobhan’s hands, hauling her inside.

         “Oh shit am I glad to see you.” Her voice is a rough whisper. “Stay quiet though. I’m on 24 hour a day surveillance.”

         “What?” Siobhan swings her body inside and her feet touch down gently on Marion’s bedroom floor. She doesn’t let go of her hand.

The room is tidier than she remembers it, and lighter as the last of the sun paints the walls a dying coral pink. It’s beautiful. _She’s_  beautiful. Siobhan has to breathe through suddenly heavy air, her heart beating thick in her mouth.

         “Y-you’re really going to have to fill me in. Where have you been all day? Why did your mother tell me you didn’t want to see me?”

Her voice gradually rises in both volume and hysteria. Marion smiles ruefully, pulling Siobhan closer by their still-joined hands, their breath mingling quietly in the air between them.

Marion’s voice catches with her next whisper; she’s missed the jolt in her stomach that Siobhan seems to cause. It’s been calm in her chest for too long. She resists the urge to close the distance between their lips as she notices Siobhan’s eyes flutter shut with her proximity. The power of it feels delicious.

         “They saw a video of the protest night… It didn’t go well.”

Marion keeps her eyes steady on the other girl’s face as the words sink in. And when they do-

         “Oh shit,” Siobhan says, more loudly than necessary, Marion shushes her with a shaky hand, letting her fingers rest lightly against the other girl’s lips.

         “Shit indeed, but that’s why you really can’t be here. Keep it down or I’m screwed. You have no idea. Mother is on the warpath. I’m lucky I haven’t been sent to bloody boarding school somewhere on the other side of the planet.”

Her hand is still over Siobhan’s mouth, trembling with worry and the realisation of their situation. It’s amazing how much power one’s parents can hold when you live under their roof and eat their food. Marion feels like a prisoner. Ashamed. 

Siobhan’s lanky frame casts a long shadow across the floor as the sunset’s crescendo paints the world orange. Marion can feel every single part of herself with keen focus. It’s as if her skin has grown extra senses, tingling in the breeze from the open window. She moves her hand to tilt Siobhan’s chin, trailing a lazy arc from her mouth. She can see goose bumps rise on Siobhan’s half-bare shoulder as her other hand moves to rest there.

Siobhan’s eyes flash to hold her gaze, the clear watery grey of them too light suddenly; too honest. Marion’s chest aches; she moves closer, the smell of coffee and cigarette smoke subtle in the dust motes of her room.

         “You’re so beautiful.”

It’s less that a whisper; Marion breathes it into the suddenly silent, static dance that stretches like water between them. How terrifying it is to have someone just as alive as you are, all heartbeat and tidal breath, looking at you like you’re the best thing in the world. Siobhan’s eyes speak that in volumes, they _sing_  it. She suddenly feels overdressed. Marion swallows hard and drags a heavy gaze across the planes of her neck. When they lean forward, it is in endless arcs of movement. It’s soft, so soft when they kiss; Marion’s mouth gentle against Siobhan’s.

The younger girl bends into her, all sway and ache, hooking lazy fingers into the belt-loops of Siobhan’s jeans and pulling her closer. They are a tangle of tongue and breath, tumbling backwards into Marion’s bed with a muffled thump and a giggle.

Suddenly, there is the sound of footsteps on the stairs, strict and icy. The sounds echo and snap in contrast to the warmth of Siobhan’s body underneath her. Marion freezes, pulling away with brown eyes wide and terrified. She hisses in panic,

         “You have to hide, Siobhan, now!”

The punk scrambles off the bed in understanding compliance, pressing one last kiss to the underside of Marion’s jaw before crossing the room quietly. She clambers not-so-gracefully inside the rich girl’s wardrobe, deciding that it’s the fastest option. The door creaks softly as she swings it shut, tucking herself as tightly as she can into a neat but full closet, rows of high heeled shoes and strappy sandals digging into her back.

It’s not a moment too soon, Siobhan can hear Marion’s mother, shoes brisk on the floorboards, opening the door without so much as a knock and sighing frostily. Her voice, when it comes, is muffled and far away. Siobhan shuts her eyes and tries not to imagine Marion’s guilt and fear at facing this woman.

         “Marion. I have some rather awful news for you.”

Siobhan’s heart lurches. Whatever is awful news for Marion has become instantly awful news for her. It happens that way when you adore every atom of someone’s being. It’s a funny thing, love. Marion’s mother’s voice grates inevitably onwards towards pain.

         “You’re going to be transferred, to a different high school. There’s one where your grandmother lives that appears suitable, she’s dying and I think you should spend as much time there as possible.”

         “What?” Marion’s voice trembles around the word like crinkled paper. Siobhan aches with empathy. She suddenly wants nothing more to burst out of the wardrobe and wrap the tiny brown-eyed girl in her arms.

         “I think you heard what I said.” The woman is even cold in the face of her own daughter’s distress.  _Ice queen, you wouldn’t believe._ “I’ll let you pack. You’ll leave tomorrow.”

Seven heartbeats later, the door shuts.

The resulting silence is a home for heaviness; there’s a small, animal sob from somewhere outside the wardrobe’s wooden walls. It pinches deep in Siobhan’s chest and seeps out with a bittersweet acid. She raises a pale hand and splays it against the door, pushing it open. She clambers out as gently as she can. Siobhan is breaking along with Marion’s heart. 

When her eyes adjust to the pale evening light, Marion suddenly looks very small, her body dark against the pale sheets of her bed. She’s shaking. Siobhan feels like she’s a long way away.

Siobhan stands, and she feels.

It comes over her in a dark tide,

filling her lungs with water.

Siobhan stands and she watches

this tiny girl who lives in her heart,

fall apart. 


	15. kick me out, no good-bye (drunk in love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marion leaves, siobhan fucks up

~~~~~~~

        “I don’t know what I’m going to do, S.” Marion looks up from her seat on the floor, wrapped in a pale pink blanket. “I’m scared.”

Siobhan can feel her heart breaking; the girl’s face is still wet from crying and the tremor of tears in her voice is poorly disguised.  _It’s such a curse to care_ , Siobhan thinks, _I have no idea how to fix any of this. But s_ he crouches down with a soft sigh and slides under the blanket, readjusting it to include her. She savours the feeling of Marion’s warmth and can almost hear her heart beat out a whispered  _I love you, I love you, I love you._

 

         “I know you’re scared, I do. It’s okay though. I promise everything will work out okay somehow.” Siobhan looks across at Marion’s pale face, feeling worry seep icily into her veins.

The moment hangs sweetly, long enough that Siobhan is finally able to look and really  _see_  the girl in front of her.Marion’s eyelashes frame her cheek with a sad brush back and forth. There’s a smattering of freckles mapped out beside her nose like a lopsided constellation. Her eyes are downcast, but Siobhan can still see their dark brown colour, deep enough to render Marion unfathomable. But even as she watches, gentle in her gaze, she realises that she’s been holding her breath. Siobhan almost laughs. 

_Breathtaking, huh?_

Marion’s still picking the corner of the blanket apart methodically; Siobhan can only imagine that she’s picturing her mothers’ face in its place.

         “Okay.” Marion’s voice is soft. She turns to entirely face Siobhan, “I believe you.”

The gravity of Marion’s words isn’t lost on Siobhan, and she smiles gently.  _The room is still and untarnished with us here_ , Marion thinks,  _how did I get so lucky?_

She shuffles closer to Siobhan and moves the blanket from their laps, lifting it up and over their heads to make a roof of fleece. The soft pink of the blanket looks like the inside of a shell from where they sit, the lights of the bedroom illuminating the colour. The two girls look at each other, faces half in shadow, Marion moves to hold Siobhan’s hand between both of her own. Siobhan chuckles.

         “You’re such a cute nerd. Did you really just make a little blanket fort, really?”

Marion nods, bottom lip caught between her teeth and eyes crinkling in an uncontrollable smile.

         “Do you want me to apologise?” Her voice is mocking.

         “Don’t be ridiculous. Come here.”

Siobhan leans forward and presses her lips to Marion’s. Their fingers tangle softly together between them as the kiss deepens. Siobhan pulls away after a moment; Marion tastes like tears mixed with sweet chapstick. Her heart hurts with the realisation that a kiss doesn’t solve a thing.

         “Oh, darling. Shhh.”

Marion’s eyes are already red and brimming with tears once more.

         “Oh god,” She manages to choke out with a teary smile. “I’m s-sorry.”

         “Oh no! Don’t apologise to me okay, never to me. I’m- I’m your safe place. Okay?”

Marion only nods in response, shuffling closer to the other girl with a small sigh of tired resignation. They lean into each other, the blanket still covering them.

Clouds obscure the moon and Marion can see the sky darken thickly outside the window over Siobhan’s shoulder. It’s like a bruise, pulsing ominously in a place she can’t touch.

They fall asleep like that; tangled gloriously in the only warmth either can find in the aftermath of the day’s events. In the fog of sleep Marion snuggles closer whilst Siobhan frowns in her sleep, flinching at phantom blows to her punk-rock heart. They dream of each other.

The night breathes aloud.

~~

Siobhan wakes to the sound of someone moving around the room.

         “Marion?”

She feels groggy and her neck is cricked from sleeping against the edge of the bed. That was a bad idea, she thinks whilst rubbing her should ruefully, Marion was the only redeemable thing about her night’s sleep.

The girl herself hasn’t replied. She is carrying an armful of clothes from the closet to an open suitcase; lips pursed tightly in a way that looks just a little too much like her mother. Siobhan sits up properly then, creases of worry painting her sleepy forehead. She runs her fingers through her hair and tries again.

         “Marion? What are you doing?”

         “Packing.”

         “I can see that, darling, but why?”

Marion looks up at this, flinching at the term of endearment, hands shaking as they arrange her clothes neatly within the bag. When she speaks her voice is as sharp as broken glass.

         “What do you mean why? My grandmother’s dying, S?”

Siobhan looks away. She can feel her eyes stinging and throat closing in. Of course Marion was going to leave. She wasn’t going to stay just for her, of course not.  _Stupid._

         “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

         “No, you weren’t.”

Siobhan slowly stands up.  _I’m going to lose this battle._ She folds the pink blanket and places it on the end of Marion’s bed. Siobhan looks at the floor.

“I think I’m just going to go.” She tries to talk through the lump in her throat. “When are you meant to leave?”

“I think you should too. I’ll be getting into a taxi at 6pm sharp according to my mother.”

“Okay. I’ll come and see you off then.”

Siobhan knows she’ll go mad if she stays another minute watching Marion prepare to leave her behind. She has to go, now.

They’ve been speaking in short sentences, too formal and stilted to convey emotion. Siobhan realises this but she doesn’t know how to fix it short of bursting into tears. Instead, she simply crosses the room and presses a tired kiss to Marion’s cheek.

         “I love you, Marion. With everything I am.” There’s nothing more heartfelt she can utter. The air is heavy around every word. “I’ll see you later.” 

The window opens with a tried creak; Siobhan grasps the drainpipe and lowers herself over the sill. With a sad smile she’s gone.

Only then can Marion cry. She wilts, bends in on herself and shatters against blossoming grief.  _Oh what have I done?_

~~

When Siobhan reaches her bag in the Bowles’ garden she pulls out her phone and sighs heavily into the morning air.  _If in doubt, phone a friend._

Beth’s number flashes up in Siobhan’s contacts with the contact photo- a screen-shotted snapchat selfie- taking its hilarious place on the screen. But even that doesn’t make Siobhan laugh. She lifts the mobile to her ear, a naive dial tone tinkling lightly into silence. 

         “Beth? Yeah. It’s Siobhan… I know it’s early, I know. I thought you’d be up though. Not like Manning, lazy bitc- Yeah, yeah. Don’t get emotional on me Childs. I need your help- Yes it’s to do with her. She’s leaving. You what? No, no. Of course not- Her grandmother’s dying and her mother hates me. Yes it’s a long story you twat.” Siobhan shifts her weight from foot to foot impatiently.

         “Yeah that’s exactly what I had in mind. For sure, gather Manning, that lumberjack idiot, those nerds from the uni and the little girlfriend of yours and it’ll be a proper gathering. I’m going to need it. Excellent. You’re a top cop Beth. Ha. ha. Very funny. Fuck off. I’ll see you later.”

Siobhan hangs up, tucks the phone back into her pocket and turns to leave. I hate this place, she thinks tiredly, I really do. She wonders how Marion deals with it, day in and day out. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe that’s why Siobhan even came into her life. The thought makes her sad and happy all at once.

Her fingers push cold on the white metal garden gate as she leaves and the garden is silent once more.

~~

The day goes slowly, but somehow, finally, evening arrives. Siobhan leaves her house at four to make her way to meet the gang. The sky is already dark and a stiff wind is pushing at the taller trees with a restless energy. It’s probably going to be a wild winter night, the kind that sees the rain whip like cold blades down into the dark streets, furiously relentless.

Siobhan doesn’t mind though, storms excite her and make her feel like a kid again. With that anticipation hovering in her chest happily, she strides quickly through the ash grey residential blocks of town.

It doesn’t take her long to arrive at the little coffee shop that feels like home, and when she pushes the door inwards to warm air and soft light everyone is already there, waiting. They’re spread oddly about the homely room, Cosima and Delphine laughing with Cal at one wooden table whilst Sarah and Beth play pool, a lazy cigarette dangling out of the punk’s mouth.

Even as she hovers in the doorway, they all look up, smiling or calling out in greeting. Siobhan almost grins in relief; these are her people, unapologetically and beautifully loyal. 

_here comes the pain of love. bittersweet._

         “Up to mischief already, are we?”

         “You’re damn right, S. What else do you expect, Sarah’s here?”

That’s Beth, happier tonight than Siobhan’s seen her for ages. She can be a smart little pain in the arse when she feels so inclined.

It’s more than a relief to see her happy too, Siobhan can feel herself wanting to sing again, a familiar breath of happiness rising up under her lungs. 

Cal Morrison, the lumberjack Sarah’s been stringing along, appears to excuse himself from the science discussion he’s been landed in and goes behind the bar, plaid shirt dancing with changing light.

When he emerges, he has beers in hand, smiling with open friendliness. He offers a beer to Siobhan on his way past, lumbering, like a friendly bear, back to join Cosima. He’s kind like that, Cal; it seems to come naturally to him.

Siobhan only grins in thanks, slinging her backpack to the ground and moving to spectate the competitive game of pool underway. Her breath comes happily and she smells laughter on the air.

~~~

Three beers later and it isn’t just Siobhan who’s pink in the face and giggling. Beth has given up on pool and is now lounging by the jukebox with a smirk that says; ‘I’m choosing every song tonight.’

Alison arrives too; late and flustered at her disorganisation.

Even in her inebriated state, Siobhan is inclined to believe that the Hendrix girl is not the sort of person who is ever late and the group responds similarly, teasing poor Alison to the verge of tears.

At least she’s teary  _until_ the cheap wine is dug out of the back and applied liberally to her wounded pride… After that, the party trucks onwards with new energy.

Cosima and Delphine become even more wrapped up in each other than before; less intellectually, mind you. This kind of interest seems to centre on lips and skin rather than philosophical discussions and scientific principles. Neither seems to be bothered though, Cosima’s hand so far up the blonde’s shirt that Siobhan absently wonders if they have any shame at all.

Alison loosens up only after a whole bottle of white wine disappears, an incredible feat of stick-up-the-arse perseverance as Sarah drily observed, but after that it doesn’t take much for her to go quickly downhill. Siobhan finds herself half-supporting the tiny girl’s weight as she giggles into her glass, only briefly after the introduction of vodka to the night’s proceedings.

         “Beth’s great. Isn’t she? So great…”

Wide brown eyes look expectantly at her for an answer. They remind Siobhan an awful lot of Marion’s, and she tries very hard to look away.

         “Yes, she is. Have you told her that you think she’s great?”

Alison looks confused.  _Oh god,_ Siobhan thinks,  _why am I leading into giving advice to a tiny drunk girl who probably doesn’t give a shit anyway?_

         “N-not exactly. No.”

_Oh fuck it._

         “I think you should, Alison. Beth forgets that she’s great sometimes. She needs someone to tell her.”

The answering smile of something akin to understanding tugs strangely at Siobhan’s heart and she suddenly hopes with every fibre of her being that Alison does tell Beth. The cop needs some good luck and, all things considered, Hendrix is cute.

~~

The night turns into ridiculous vodka shots and ‘I never’. Siobhan entirely forgets about Marion and spends hours dancing with her motley crew of misfits and best friends. But when she finally looks at her watch it’s 6.30 and she feels something snap in her chest.  _Shit._ She realises that there’s no way she can make it, even if the taxi happened to be late, which it wouldn’t be if Marion’s mother was in any way involved.

It’s easy to forget though.

Especially when alcohol is flowing easily and Beth is playing Beyoncé loudly over the café speakers. 

Drunk in love indeed.

But missing something. Her.

Siobhan’s heart beats the name like a whisper.

_Marion, Marion, Marion._


	16. am I ever going to see your face again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> never fear siobhan's mother is here

Marion sits in the back of the taxi trying not to cry. Her knees tuck up under her chin, stockinged legs painted with her mother’s idea of identity. She feels dressed in forced lies and sadness. Of course she had to go. What did Siobhan think she would do?

Marion had stood there too, delaying her departure, on the wind scoured street-corner for ages, peering desperately into the darkness as if every tree concealed Siobhan’s lanky figure, coming to say goodbye. But they didn’t, and Siobhan never came.

It feels like the worst kind of betrayal, instantly destroying every beautiful whisper the other girl had ever uttered. It feels like a death of something delicate, like crushing a small flower underfoot. Even as she ponders, eyes glossy with unshed tears, the taxi driver turns the radio up with a sympathetic glance in the rear-view mirror. It’s playing a song of nostalgia and night-time drives, lights spinning past the windows. The music swirls eerily around the car with lyrics of infinite loneliness and Marion aches somewhere that she doesn’t have the energy to describe.

\Hey now, letters burning by my bed for you//

She rests her cheek on the cold car window, it’s speckled with puzzle pieces of rain and she imagines them all whispering to each other there on the glass.

“I love you. You’re clear and beautiful and part of me.”

It’s all a lie.

\Hey now, I can feel my instincts here for you, hey now//

Her tears join their party, as warm as they are cold.

\By my bed for you//

Marion hates her heart for breaking.

~~

Siobhan wakes up the next morning with her head on a café table and pounding between her ears. She opens her eyes as slowly as she can, groaning with the light now flooding the café and the answering flash of her brain. The new day has come, as it inevitably does.

“Shit.”

Her voice sounds stale, empty in the room’s silence. Even as she lifts her head, feeling slowly returning to her numb cheek, Siobhan realises, like a slow-creeping ice of horror, that there is something she has forgotten to do.

“Oh fuck.”

She speaks more loudly this time, angry with herself. Her voice rises with panic even as she sits upright, frozen on a café stool and hung-over beyond belief. “I am such a stupid twat holy mother of shit!”

Her voice rings emptily with a sad decay until an amused chuckle from behind her answers her words.

“Yes, yes you are a stupid twat, S. But even I could’ve told you that.” Sarah’s awake, looking half-dead over a cup of coffee at the bar. Her smirk takes pride of place on her lips though, even in morning’s relentless reminder of life. Siobhan groans even louder in answer.

“No, Sarah, you don’t understand!” She lifts a desperate hand and runs it through her hair, brows creased anxiously above glazed eyes. “Marion left. She’s gone. My only chance to say goodbye. It was last night.”

“Oh shit.” Now Sarah’s listening. She takes a hefty swing of coffee and tries to look sympathetic. She struggles.

Siobhan just glares at her, getting to her feet and casting around desperately for her jacket and bag.

“Uh, Siobhan. If you’re possession searching… You left half your clothes over by the dance floor. That might be helpful.” Sarah’s tone is anything but helpful; a singsong reminder of the train wreck Siobhan’s day is shaping up to be.

“Gosh, thank you Sarah!” Siobhan gathers her shirt, socks and shoes that have found themselves decorating the jukebox and pool table with an eye roll and prize-winning sarcasm. She notices that everyone else has left and tries to move faster, “Holy shit what time is it where’s Beth and co?”

Sarah shrugs with the trace of a soft smile, spinning an empty packet of sugar between tired fingers.

“I have no idea, I think it’s ten-ish.” She grins, “Last I saw, Beth and private-school fringe were making out on the bar and decided to leave early in the night’s proceedings. Bit cute, really. I don’t know about the others. Cal’s out the back making more coffee.”

“Thanks Sarah… and thank Cal and Beth for me. I really needed last night. I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

She’s already halfway out the door and doesn’t hear Sarah’s answer. 

But she hardly cares. You see, Siobhan Sadler has a day’s plans to make and a shower to have. Not to mention panadol to track down, this headache’s killing her. 

~~

Marion steps out of the cab with shaky legs. They’ve been on the road throughout the night, stopping occasionally for supplies, but the travel was only ever fast moving and relentless. Lucky the driver’s so nice; she thinks gently, hey, it was almost fun.

It was almost enough to take her mind off Siobhan.

Almost.

The driveway they’ve stopped in front of is white pebbled and posh. It reminds Marion of home. It makes her feel sick.

The cab driver brings her bags around to her door and rests a hand gently on her shoulder as if it’d bring her back to earth. Marion wonders if her grandmother makes the groundsmen polish the pebbles. Each and every one. Until they can see their reflection staring back.

“Where’d you like these Miss Marion?”

He speaks louder the second time. She mustn’t have heard. Marion looks at him as if he’s spoken in German and blinks slowly in owlish confusion.

“Sorry?”

The poor man clears his throat, smiles as kindly as he can and tries again.

“I was just asking, Miss Marion, if you’d like me to take your bags inside for you?”

“Oh.” She shivers slightly and grinds a toe into the perfect pebbles by her feet. Her voice comes out silky and tired. She likes it. “Yes. That’d be lovely, thank you.”

The perfection of the path annoys her as her cabdriver follows its length and pulls on the small doorbell string that sways in the breeze on the pristine front porch. Marion’s fingertips shake slightly in cold, fear and fury. Just then, the boiled-sweet front door opens towards her with a prolonged squeal of disused hinges and a figure exits, in a slow tremble of movement and exhaustion.

“Marion Bowles.” The voice is loud. It is not a question.

She squints against the suddenly very white light, but the figure remains in the shadow of the door. It’s her grandmother’s voice though, commanding and brusque as always. The cabdriver nods once at the shadow and disappears inside the belly of the house to deposit her bags. Marion scuffs her shoe harder. The voice screams back into her silence,

“No skin off my nose if you stay outside and freeze. You’d think a girl of your age would have more sense though. Come in, Marion. Please do.”

Marion blushes at this, tries to fix the hole she’s made in the garden path and squares her shoulders.

It’s time to see her grandmother again.

~~

Siobhan gets home by eleven, throwing her bag into her room without waiting to see it fall and racing into the kitchen where her mother is mildly sipping a cup of tea over the morning paper.

“Mum. I need your advice.”

Brigid looks up at this, a smile already setting about her motherly eyes with interest.

“Oh, indeed.” She sets her tea down on the table with a thud. The paper is already being folded between her large hands as she chuckles in anticipation. “There’s tea in the pot, pumpkin. You tell me all about it.”

Siobhan tries not to roll her eyes. Keen for a story, far too excited to help, that was her mother all right.

But she pours the tea, strong and hot, into her favourite, chipped mug and sits down opposite Brigid’s kindly mass. She doesn’t quite know where to begin. She just feels very tired, very hopeless, and very sad.

“What would you do if someone you liked very much decided to leave town-” Siobhan clears her throat slightly and blinks to clear her vision, frowning at herself before continuing. “-To look after her sick grandmother for an unknown amount of time and y-you forgot to s-say goodbye?”

Siobhan starts to speak very thickly when she reaches the last words and Brigid reaches out a hand to cover hers. It’s funny though, how small kindnesses like this only serve to increase melancholy. So the thin girl in a creased shirt and messy curls at her kitchen table begins to cry.

“Mum. I forgot to say goodbye. I didn’t tell her that I understood. I d-didn’t say! I didn’t s-say I’d s-stay! I didn’t s-say goodbye.”

Her sobs are tainted with the smell of fresh bread and her mother’s love, at odds with each other in the light of morning.

“Never you mind, love. Everyone makes mistakes you know! If she loves you, she’ll understand.” Brigid looks her daughter straight in the eyes and aches with love. “Hey you know what, Miss Siobhan beautiful-pain-in-my-arse Sadler?”

“What?” Siobhan asks with a watery laugh.

Her mother winks with stony blue honesty.

“I have a plan.”

~~~~~~~~ 

oh fuck I’m sorry it’s this shit. but here’s an update. plot will get done next time. and there will be an update by thursday at the latest. I promise, swear on my life etc etc


	17. my grandmother’s probably a pirate and hell my love we’re not dead yet

Siobhan has no idea how her mother tamed the ice queen, but here they are: Marion-bound and guided on by a prim address written reluctantly on the back of an envelope. The tires of her mother’s beaten-up old bomb kiss the highway as night-time colours flash past the windows and Siobhan tries not to think of all the ways this plan could go badly wrong. She doesn’t even know what’s she’s doing or how any of this will help but Brigid turns the radio up with nervous giggles of excitement and she almost doesn’t care. Nothing like a mother-daughter adventure and road trip to warm hearts, hey?

 

It’s funny, but Siobhan feels freer than she has for days with The Clash tearing from the car radio and her mother singing along with a grin the size of Russia. Fuck, it’s like she’s been living underwater since the protest. All Marion’s conservative-family-closeted bullshit had really got her down. There’s only so much that love can stand, right?

Half an hour previously, Brigid had practically swaggered out the Bowles’ front door with a smirk that said ‘victory!’ and ‘don’t ask how’. It didn’t stop Siobhan trying, mind you, at least for a little while. She’s just bemused and in awe now, for however Brigid Sadler got Marion’s mother to cough up the address she’d sent her daughter away to, the results were the same: Road Trip. Destination Marion.

~~

They drive for an hour or two, sharing comfortable silence and blaring road trip sing-a-longs in equal measure before they both get hungry and tired.

         “What’ll it be, love? Road kill stir-fry or shitty take-away?”

Siobhan smiles tiredly.

         “I’d honestly eat anything at this point, mum. You decide.”

Brigid does, pulling over at a service station and climbing out of the driver’s seat with her wallet tucked under one arm.

         “Stay put. I’ll be back in five, pumpkin.”

Siobhan only settles deeper into her seat in answer, spinning her phone in between her fingers, exhaustedly watching the eerie way it reflects the fluorescent roadside lighting. This is apocalypse-type shit, she thinks tiredly, a broken concrete gas station and a mother-and-daughter trip into nowhere and nothing. What is she even going to find at the other end, anyway? Marion waiting with open arms and promises of a life together? Who even thinks about that shit at seventeen, anyway? Hell, she probably only thinks of Siobhan as the scruffy girl next door, a song-writing self-indulgent rat who’d fuck  _anyone_  in the backseat of a broken-into SUV.

She blinks away tears, feeling a dull thudding ache trace every muscle in her body with a poisonous tired and she suddenly  _hates_  with a distracted fury that surprises her.

Then it gives way to more tears. It always does.

Brigid’s hand hits the door-handle after not too long and it makes Siobhan jump and brush her eyes roughly, a scowl ready-made. She climbs back into her seat and reaches for the seatbelt, passing Siobhan a hot, greasy paper bag.

         “Celebrate! I found hot chips. And shit if we don’t have a weakness for hot chips!”

When Siobhan doesn’t answer, Brigid looks across at her, one hand on the ignition and concern already creeping to her lips.          

         “S, love! What’s the matter?”

Siobhan opens the bag and pulls out three choice chips before handing it to her mother.

         “It’s probably nothing. I mean- it is nothing! At least I thought it w-was.” She clears her throat, the chip in her mouth tasting suddenly like ash. “I was just thinking that this is probably all going to be for nothing and I’ll end up all empty like an idiot and we’re young anyway nobody knows anything about love and she’s got all this other shit going on and I’m just planning to what? Rock up and expect her to leap into my goddamn arms like a Disney fairy-tale.”

Brigid chuckles softly and turns the key in the ignition, the car choking to life below them.

         “Of course not, Siobhan darling. There’s no happy ending for big gays like you. Disney should’ve taught you that.”

Brigid’s attempt to stay serious falls apart with her last words, snorting around the chip in her mouth as she indicates and pulls back onto the highway.

         “Mum!” Siobhan yelps, swatting at her absent-mindedly with one hand. “I’m serious. What if her grandmother really is dying and I rock up like ‘your mother’s a bitch make out with me’?”

Her mother’s hysterical laughter and Siobhan’s watery giggles accompany the journey, following the road as fast as their beaten vehicle can take them.

~~

 The inside of Marion’s grandmother’s house is much like she remembers it, stuffy, full of clashing colours, and home to a grey parrot that seems determined to scare Marion to death at some point during her stay. She doesn’t mind the place really; it’s fascinating and strange, home to treasures and sadnesses that she’s is desperate to explore. Marion doesn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction though, of actually  _enjoying_ herself. Besides, open-ended arrangements for lodging with one’s grandmother are a dick move no matter what, so Marion has spent the day in her room, writing furiously in a notebook and refusing to talk to her grandmother or open the baby blue door of her guest-room.

         “I need sleep, we’ve been on the road all night-” was her excuse.

More accurate, perhaps, would have been:

         “I’m sad, sick and tired. My mother has arranged this stay to keep me away from a complete nerd that I’ve fallen in love with, she plays in a band and lives next door and I think she might’ve changed my life.”        

But Marion doubts, somehow, that this would have gone down any better. So she stays silent, curled around a pillow, with Siobhan’s name on her lips and the pressure of a memory’s kiss on her neck.  

~~~

Brigid and Siobhan take turns driving, unsteady seventeen-year-old hands on the wheel so her mother can sleep, until they reach a small town by a river where they can have lunch.

It’s beautiful, tall trees reaching high enough that it looks to Siobhan as if they want to dance with the clouds. Mother and daughter stand side by side on the bank; their reflections shivering back to them from the water.

         “We’re about half an hour away,” Brigid warns, pulling Siobhan into her side with a rough and emotional one-armed hug. “Are you ready for this?”

         “Are you kidding, I’m so fucked.” Siobhan giggles slightly regardless. “It’s Marion though. I know her, you know? It’ll be okay.”

It’s amazing how nerves manifest themselves. Nothing’s felt real to Siobhan all day.

~~~~~

Marion makes her way downstairs in the late afternoon to find her grandmother, the infamous Margaret Bowles, making biscuits with the grey parrot on her shoulder.

         “Hello.”

Her voice almost sounds rusty with the day’s misuse and she fervently hopes her eyes aren’t still red. Marion’s never been very good at lying or hiding her tears. Her grandmother turns around minimally with the greeting, steel-grey eyes removing all traces of doubt in Marion’s mind that this woman is entirely like her mum.

         “Well then. You’ve finally emerged.”

Margaret’s voice is as sharply cut as her biscuit dough and comes out half as sweet. She hums to herself tunelessly for a moment before continuing ruthlessly. “Have some water Marion. One gets rather dehydrated when crying all day, don’t you think?”

Marion almost laughs. Wow, threatening  _and_  cruel. As if she’s not used to it.

         “Can I ask you something?” Marion figures that with a woman this sharp there’s not much use beating around the bush. She can be direct in her own right, carry on the family tradition of being unapologetic.

         “I suppose you can, yes.” Margaret turns around properly now, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and surprise. The parrot ruffles its feathers threateningly.

         “Are you sick?”

The kitchen rings emptily and Margaret, to her credit, looks genuinely surprised. 

         “What?”

Marion smiles cruelly. Her mother really is a fucking piece of work.  _Holy shit._

She doesn’t have long to ponder the confirmation as there’s a knock at the door, echoing hollow through the room. Marion steps forward to pat her grandmother briefly on the shoulder.

         “I’ll get it, shall I?”

Margaret nods mutely in assent, probably still wondering why her only granddaughter is under the illusion that her mortality is in dire straights. Marion doesn’t need to wonder, not about that at least. The real question is why her mother is so entirely against her daughter’s happiness, and what exactly Marion’s going to do now. But when Marion finally negotiates the rabbit warren of house to reach the front door, the person standing on the veranda with a lopsided grin and a crushed bunch of daffodils only confuses the issue, and makes her heart as light as a goddamn helium balloon.

         “Siobhan?” 

 ~~~~~~~


	18. not opposed to punk rock and saving our lives

_**~~~~~~~~~~** _

         “Marion.”

The sound of Siobhan’s voice, rough and paired with an exhausted, yet cocky smile, sets Marion’s heart pounding thickly above her ribs with memory.  _She never came to say goodbye, she never came._ Marion can see Brigid’s battered car sitting at the bottom of the driveway, tucked into the lengthening shadow of the trees and it reminds her of sitting on a windowsill and _wanting._

         “Hi.”

There’s a lull, the lazy sound of insects taking over their voices, before Siobhan hands her the daffodils, the wilt of them mirroring the way she now hangs her head.

         “I didn’t come and say goodbye.”

It’s not an apology, not yet.

 

         “You didn’t.” Marion agrees tiredly, blinking back the familiar sting of tears. These words, this regret feels so tired these days, so very tired. Just like her.

Siobhan tries to reach out, a ruined gesture that’s sure to fail, as a figure looms in the doorway behind Marion’s slender frame.

         “Is this her?” The figure asks, with a voice very much like Marion’s mother and Siobhan has to stop herself taking a step backwards. There are bad memories from this voice as sharp as knives.

Marion turns around, quiet and trembling slightly. She tries to make her voice sound brave.

         “It depends on who you think she is, grandmother.”

         “The girl you’ve been crying about all day-” is the answer to that, and Siobhan turns pale, scuffing a toe against the porch step. “- the one your mother thinks is the spawn of the devil because she plays loud music next-door.”

Marion raises an eyebrow and looks back and forth between Siobhan and her grandmother, the ghost of a, somewhat surprised, sheepish smile hanging around her lips.

         “Uh. Yeah, that’s her.”

Siobhan looks at the two women in front of her and lets out a little snort, barely stifled. She grins,

         “Spawn of the devil, huh?”

Margaret smiles at her. “Apparently. But I never  _hated_ punk rock, myself. That daughter of mine seems to have made some- leaps in judgement, you could say.”

         “You could say that, yeah.” Siobhan steps closer to the doorway and holds out a hand for Margaret Bowles to shake. She’s trying to win her over, cheeks hurting with a smile and a forced twinkle to her eye. The old woman seems suitably convinced though, gripping the girl’s calloused fingers, giving them a shake and pulling her nearer the door with a tug of her arm.

         “Come in would you! What is it with teenagers and dramatically refusing to take shelter?”

Siobhan chuckles at that and follows Margaret past Marion and into the bowels of the house,.

Marion remains, standing stock-still on the veranda, looking bemusedly from the sagging bunch of flowers in her hands back out across her grandmother’s garden. She murmurs to herself,

         “She never hated punk rock? What’s that supposed to mean?”

//\//\

Turns out, Margaret Bowles ‘not hating’ punk rock means boxes and boxes of old records in her attic, many of which are being greeted with wordless exclamations of joy from one Siobhan Sadler, lifting one after another into the light and running excited fingers over the fading letters.

         “Holy shit! These are incredible!”

Margaret smiles at her from the edge of the trapdoor, the parrot bobbing its head whilst sitting on her shoulder.

         “I thought you might appreciate my little secret.” She says drily. “Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was in love with a boy from my school who played in a band. I thought he was remarkable, playing that bass guitar like his life depended on it. He just seemed very cool. That was, until he slept with my best friend and forgot that I ever existed.”

Her voice hasn’t turned wistful. There’s a point to this story and it doesn’t take time over subtleties.

Siobhan looks up from the mess of records on the floor and lets a small frown crease over her eyes.

         “He sounds like a douchebag,” She says quietly, grey eyes flickering from Margaret’s stillness to the stripes of sunlight across the attic room.

         “He certainly was,” Margaret murmurs, “And I’m glad you think that.”

Siobhan smiles sadly, knowing what Marion’s grandmother is getting at. Thankfully, it’s the one thing she’s willing to bet on.

         “You know I love her right. I’m here for as long as she wants me.”

She receives a nod from over at the trapdoor, a high honour coming from a Bowles, and the attic air lightens its pressure a little from around Siobhan’s nervous ears.

         “I get that feeling, yes.” Margaret says, standing slowly and retreating down the steps. “Why don’t you come and have some tea, Siobhan darling. I have an idea I’m sure you’ll be interested in.”

Siobhan’s sure she will be too, tidying the boxes as best she can before following Margaret downstairs and wiping the thick dust on the front of her jeans.

_Maybe we’re not lost//perhaps there’s salvaged dawn//ruined boxes on Maggie’s head//hear a distant cry for more//_

//\//\

When they reach the kitchen, Marion is already there. She’s poured three cups of tea and put out a plate of biscuits, the daffodils still drooping but placed in a vase on the sink behind her. Margaret tries not to look proud, sitting with a relieved groan at the head of the table and motioning for Siobhan to join them. The kitchen has turned light and warm, sunlight streaming in through the window like hope for a future and youthful happiness. It’s the magic of the afternoon.

         “I’m getting old.” Margaret says into the quiet, pulling one of the cups closer to hand. “Seeing you two makes me feel like there’s some hope and youth in the world, even if my bitch of a daughter is attempting to get in the way.”  

She speaks slowly, as if the words will break if she’s rough with them.

Siobhan and Marion meet each other’s eye over the rim of their cups, feeling something dangerously like hope.

Siobhan places her tea back down on the table and clears her throat.

         “So what do we do?”

Marion tears her eyes from Siobhan’s determined frown and hardly dares to breathe as her grandmother bites happily into a biscuit. The moment swings like a pendulum between good and evil.

         “We lie.”

\//\//

Siobhan runs to the car in a shatter of words, waking Brigid from her well-earned rest in the ample backseat.

         “Mum! You wouldn’t believe- I- can- we have another plan!”

Brigid blinks sleepily, the words ‘oh no’ already on her lips as Siobhan flings the boot open and starts trying to make room for boxes in the backseat. It’s not just one box either, and they look like they’re just filled with-

         “Siobhan, what on earth are you doing?”

 _Now_ she’s awake! Siobhan laughs, wildly.  _Everything is good and nothing hurts._

         “Making room for some beautiful things… The other one is packing her stuff inside!”

Brigid can see nothing but a toothy grin from where she’s half-sitting, but it tells her everything she needs to know. She shakes her head.

         “Siobhan Sadler. You did  _not_ just compare your girlfriend to ancient vinyl.”

         “Nah, absolutely not, you’re imagining ridiculous things, Mum. Honestly.”

Brigid sits up properly and tries to swat at her daughter, but she can’t reach and it only makes Siobhan laugh harder. Brigid snorts, flopping back down on the seat.

         “You’re a nightmare! Marion would be far better behaved. Maybe I got the wrong kid, I like her better.”

Now it’s Siobhan’s turn to be indignant.

         “Yeah well, me too, but whoah there… I’m an absolute _delight_  to have under your roof!”

         “Sure you are. Keep telling yourself that!” But Brigid sighs, and clambers out of the car in resignation. “All joking aside, I really should know what the hell you’re talking about. Tell me about this ‘plan’ of yours… I can just tell I’m going to have to  _do_ something to help you.  _Again_. Eugh.”

         “Mum you sound seventeen, stop whinging.”

\//\//

Brigid’s right. The goddamn plan requires something akin to adoption, and fraud, and probably 45 other crimes. She’s swayed though, by her daughter’s raw enthusiasm and the way Marion Bowles watches this enthusiasm (as if Siobhan is the only person in the whole world).

Brigid calls them both ‘walking clichés’ and ‘pains in the arse’ before she even half-agrees. But it’s not even an hour later that she’s back in their shitty car, a box of Margaret’s biscuits on the passenger seat along with a check for 20k that nobody has appeared to notice yet.

(Later on, when they stop at a servo and eat said biscuits, Brigid will find the check and say something along the lines of ‘what a heinous bitch’ and ‘we’re not a charity case for fuck’s sake’. It’ll make the two girls in the back seat laugh so hard they cry, because everyone’s so tired that it might as well be 2am).

When Brigid pulls up on their street, checking the windows of ‘Bowles Mansion’ to make sure they’re not being watched, the two girls are in the back red-cheeked and fast asleep: Marion tucked underneath Siobhan’s arm. Brigid watches them for a moment, leaning against the car door with a soft and tired contentment that makes her feel like perhaps she’s really done a good thing here.

And she has.


	19. pancakes?

When Marion wakes, it’s to a familiar room. The sun dapples it prettily, a stripe across the pillow where her head is laying; the thing that appears to have pulled her out of dreamless sleep.  _So I’m back on Siobhan’s mattress on the floor, then._  The thought makes her unreasonably happy, and relaxed, a feeling that she hasn’t had room to feel lately, in the midst of her mother’s icy wrath and grandmother’s dubious alliance.

 

Marion sits up groggily, reaching for her suitcase by the bed and pulling out a white t-shirt and jeans. The exhaustion of their return trip still drags heavily in her muscles as she stands, shaky on her feet, and her empty stomach growls loudly into the quiet, but she forces herself to dress in a fog of exhaustion, reaching for one of Siobhan’s enormous woollen jumpers from the floor before she traipses to the kitchen, still rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

When she speaks her greeting is warped by a yawn.

         “Good morning, Mrs Sadler.”

Brigid looks up from the paper, a piece of toast hovering near her mouth.

         “Oh hello chicken! You’re up! And please, call me Brigid, or I’ll have to rethink this whole illegal adoption thing.”

Marion smiles.

         “I can do that. Thanks again, for everything, you know?”

         “I do. Now sit down and let Siobhan serve you some breakfast.”

Marion turns around in her seat to see Siobhan by the stove, cheerily pouring pancake mix into a saucepan and humming softly to herself.

         “They’re the best pancakes you could ever have, M, I promise.”

         “I’m sure they will be. But are you sure I can’t help with anything?”

Siobhan smirks,

         “You just sit there looking pretty, I’m on it.”

         “Idiot.”

         “I heard that. Don’t you mean charming?”

         “No, no. That’s definitely not what I meant.”

         “Oi!” Siobhan says happily, trying to snap a tea towel in Marion’s general direction. “I’m great and you know it. Now, honey, do you want honey on these pancakes?”

Marion groans, but can’t help smiling the type of smile that feels like lemonade bubbles, under your skin, unfortunately impossible to hide.

         “As long as it’s not as sickly sweet as you, jesus christ!”

\//\//

After Brigid leaves to enrol Marion at Siobhan’s school, trying to come up with a fake name that’s not breaking too many laws, the girls find themselves blissfully alone. The house hangs heavy with silence, and Marion tries not to start blushing as soon as the door closes with an ominous bang.

Siobhan leaves the washing up piled on the sink ignoring Marion’s protests- ‘hey we’ve earned a break Marion c’mon’ –and walks slowly across the kitchen to where the other girl is standing awkwardly against the wall, hands shoved into pockets. Siobhan grins,

         “Feeling shy, Marion?”

Marion tries not to tremble, but when she speaks, her voice comes out in a strangled half-whisper,

         “You’re making me nervous.”

Siobhan looks even more delighted at that, leaning back against the kitchen table not two feet from Marion, surveying her with dark, steady eyes.

         “Is that so?”

This gives the term ‘eye contact’ a whole new meaning _,_ Marion thinks dizzily, as Siobhan’s gaze remains slow and traces the lines of Marion’s body, from the jut of hip just visible beneath her t-shirt all the way up to her collarbones, dragging heavily with heat.

Marion lets go of the breath she’s been unconsciously holding to clear her throat, speaking a warning slowly to the sun-drenched kitchen.

         “Siobhan…”

The other girl shows no signs of having heard her, a small smirk still hovering around perfect, pink lips. Marion feels stripped bare; naked and on fire under Siobhan’s scrutiny, forcing herself not to cross her arms and shy away.

She’s not used to such honest desire, placed on shameless display and she’s certain that her difficulty breathing is coming directly from the way Siobhan’s eyes are flickering from her lips to her eyes as if she’s already kissed them.

They stare at each other, brown eyes into icy blue. The pressure of phantom hands on Marion’s back, sides, thighs, feels all too real as she holds the other girl’s gaze. She blushes fiercely, her stomach tightening with memory and her breathing feverish in the silence.

         “You’re so cute when you’re terrified and overwhelmed,” Siobhan says with a chuckle, breaking the air’s tension like a stone through a window. Shattering.  

         “You’re  _impossible.”_ Marion breathes shakily, stepping away from the wall and closer to Siobhan’s palpable air of self-satisfaction.

“Impossibly hot, maybe.” – Siobhan manages to say, with a grin, before Marion steps forward and pulls her upright, the warmth of their joined hands sending every fairy-tale butterfly ever written about straight to each girl’s foolish heart.

They hover eye to eye for a second, Siobhan biting her lip with a nervous smile and Marion trying not to giggle, but the impatience of weeks apart makes them breathless. Marion tries not to choke in impatience, her cheeks pink and fists bunched in the fabric of Siobhan’s shirt, pulling her just that little bit closer.

When they finally kiss, Marion’s lips are just as warm and soft as Siobhan remembers. The punk feels dizzy, drunk and ridiculously happy, hands mapping the spaces between Marion’s ribs and lips whispering wordless promises against her skin. The whole kitchen feels lighter with them in it and Siobhan almost imagines that she can hear the song she’s yet to write, humming the harmonies into Marion’s ear.

          “I love you,” Siobhan says, in a half whisper, ‘I need you to know that-’ but Marion’s hands are already tangling behind her neck and tugging her closer, swallowing the punk’s words in honeyed tongue and desperate hands.

_I know, I know, I know._

\//\//

(second-last chapter of this fic ever okay!!!) (exciting times ‘cause I’ll need a new project) (sad b/c I love these nerds)


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